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THE WHITEHEADED BOY 



THE 
WHITEHEADED BOY 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 

LENNOX ROBINSON 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

ERNEST BOYD 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 

Sbe Iknicherbocket press 

1921 



.'^ 






Copyright, 1921 

by 
Lennox Robinson 

Printed in the United States of America 



JCI 31 1921 



^,^ 




gClA630051 



To 
"AUNT ELLEN 



INTRODUCTION 

A chapter in the history of the Irish Theatre 
was closed in 1907, when The Playboy of the 
Western World was produced, bringing in its 
train notoriety, fame and a relative degree of 
popular success. The recognition of the genius 
of J. M. Synge was the culminating point in 
the movement for the creation of a national 
folk-drama which he had initiated in the 
company of Lady Gregory, Padraic Colum and 
William Boyle. These were the pioneers of 
the peasant play and each contributed a definite 
element to that type of drama, marking the lim- 
itations within which it was to develop. As a 
result of the enhanced prestige of the Theatre 
and of the extension of its influence, a great 
number of new playwrights came forward, 
including several whose names were to attain 
a prominence which has obscured the prior 
claims of their predecessors, the dramatists, 
who laid the foundations of the success enjoyed 
by the Abbey Theatre after the death of Synge 
in 1909. A convention had been created and 
it was not long before a host of peasant melo- 
dramatists arose to fulfil the demand for such 
vii 



INTRODUCTION 

plays. What was obvious in the verbal exuber- 
ance of Synge, in the profound realism of 
Padraic Colum, in the drollery of Lady 
Gregory, could be imitated, and popular folk- 
drama came to be manufactured according to 
a formula. 

One of the young men who at that time 
was influenced by seeing the performances of 
the Irish Players was the author of The White- 
headed Boy. Mr. Lennox Robinson is the son 
of a clergyman and was born in Cork in 1886. 
He was one of a group of writers in that city 
who have in recent years given to Irish litera- 
ture some of its best work. His own plays 
and the novels of Mr. Daniel Corkery have 
already been acclaimed beyond the borders of 
Ireland. But back in the days of the Synge 
controversies the theatre was the chief preoc- 
cupation of that circle to which the Abbey 
Theatre now owes many of the most successful 
and some of the best, plays in its repertory; 
among others. Birthright, by T. C. Murray, 
and The Yellow Bittern, by Daniel Corkery. 
They had founded a local organization for the 
production of their work and one, at least, of 
Mr. Robinson's 'prentice efforts was staged 
there, but has never been published or otherwise 
acknowledged by him. It is called The Lesson 
of Life and the very title suggests reasons for 
the author's discretion. Indeed, he himself has 
been the sharpest critic of his early writings, 
viii 



INTRODUCTION 

and is not disposed to take very seriously even 
the first of his plays to be accepted by the 
Abbey Theatre. In the order of their produc- 
tion these were The Clancy Name (1908), The 
Cross Roads ( 1909) and Harvest ( 1910). 

It is doubtless unkind to dwell upon the early 
experiments of a writer who more or less dis- 
owns them, but apart from the perfectly legiti- 
mate interest which such things have for the 
critic, the remarkable development of Lennox 
Robinson's gift for the theatre is nowhere more 
effectively shown than in the contrast between 
those three plays and the maturer work which 
has been crowned with the great and deserved 
success of The Whiteheaded Boy. In the little 
one-act play. The Clancy Name, merits are dis- 
cernible which are not so apparent in either of 
the more ambitious pieces which followed it. 
The conflict arises between a mother, whose 
pride of race is the passion of her life, and her 
son, whose sense of duty compels him to con- 
fess that he is guilty of a crime to the author- 
ities who do not suspect him. She tries to 
prevent him from bringing disgrace on the 
family name, but the young man resists the 
appeal and goes off to give himself up. By the 
device of having him killed while trying to 
rescue a child from being trampled by a run- 
away horse, the dramatist solves too easily the 
problem which he had presented with convinc- 
ing force. 

ix 



INTRODUCTION 

The Cross Roads, however, was such a 
denial of all coherence and probability that the 
question of the element of inevitability, 
essential to tragedy, simply did not arise. 
Having postulated a loveless marriage between 
an ambitious, educated country girl and an 
impossibly brutal farmer, the author asks us 
to believe that this puts a curse upon the farm. 
The poultry refuse to lay eggs, the cattle die, 
even the fertilizer goes on strike, and we are 
shown a ghastly picture of the physical and 
moral deterioration of the household, termin- 
ating with the exit of the husband, who 
announces that he is "going down the road for 
a sup of drink" and "God help you when I 
come back." Not even the fine acting of Miss 
Sara Allgood could save this from being the 
reductio ad ahsurdum of the peasant melo- 
drama. Almost the same can be said of 
Harvest, except that the theme itself is in- 
herently sound, and need not have degenerated 
into the banalities of Brieux's Blanchette, with 
its commonplace variant of the girl who took 
the wrong turning. Mr. Robinson's subject 
is that of the problems raised by the extension 
of educational facilities to people whose 
peculiar needs and opportunities are not con- 
sidered by those who draw up the syllabus. 
The application of this theme to Irish condi- 
tions would have provided excellent material 
for a dramatist knowing rural Ireland, but 

X 



INTRODUCTION 

here the subject is frittered away into a lurid 
tale of seduction, in which the heroine dis- 
courses in the traditional manner of melodrama. 
Miss Maire O'Neill's art could not conceal the 
essential unreality of the words she spoke so 
beautifully. But these three plays of his nonage 
were merely the experiments of a dramatist 
who was learning his craft, and who differs, 
in this respect, from some of his contempor- 
aries who have had only one play to give to the 
Irish Theatre, and whose reputations rest on 
that first play, apparently free from all critical 
scrutiny. Lennox Robinson's work is a record 
of progress, whose turning point was in 1912, 
when his Patriots was produced. 

The subject of that drama is one which, in 
the retrospect of recent tragic years in Ireland, 
takes on a peculiar interest, for it was nothing 
less than a dramatisation of the crisis in Irish 
political thought whose ultimate expression is 
the Sinn Fein movement of to-day. The 
central figure of Patriots is an old rebel who 
comes back after years of imprisonment to find 
that other men and other methods are in favor 
with those who control the nationalist fight. 
In James Nugent's day physical force was the 
weapon, but the new generation seems wholly 
absorbed in parliamentary methods, and re- 
gards his insurrectionary faith as merely an 
obsolete relic of the romantic period. Mr. 
Robinson draws an exceedingly faithful and 
xi 



INTRODUCTION 

vivid picture of the state of Irish poHtics at 
that time, when the ardor of revolution ap- 
peared to have died, and the constitutional 
Home Rule Party's authority and prestige were 
supreme. There is a real tragedy in the defeat 
and dismay of the revolutionary man of action 
when he is compelled to make way for leaders 
who are ignorant of all that was the glory of 
his youth, and who can prove by logic that his 
methods are useless. In a poem of poignant 
eloquence, W. B. Yeats brooded over that same 
mood in which Patriots was conceived, when 
he wrote : 

Yet they were of a different kind 
The names that stilled your childish play, 
They have gone about the world like wind, 
But little time they had to pray 
For whom the hangman's rope was spun, 
And what, God help us, could they save : 
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, 
It's with O'Leary in the grave. 

The revolt, at that time barely perceptible, 
against the prevailing apathy of the national 
spirit, flared up a few years later in the Sinn 
Fein insurrection of 191 6 and the complete 
overthrow of the existing political order, whose 
success was postulated by the dramatist. But 
political prophecy is not an essential part of a 
good play. 

xii 



INTRODUCTION 

Just one year before that Easter Rising in 
Dublin, Mr. Robinson returned to the same 
theme, in another of its aspects. The Dreamers 
is an historical play which treats of the last 
chapter in the life of Robert Emmet, the ill- 
fated leader of the abortive insurrection which 
was the aftermath of the Irish Rebellion of 
1798. The author's purpose is to show this 
tragic figure as the victim of the shiftlessness 
and dishonest futility of his followers. He has 
always been more fortunate than Synge when 
he has drawn pictures of the Irish character 
which did not coincide with the illusions of 
sentimental patriotism. Just as Harvest es- 
caped even the censure of the hypersensitive 
who hooted TJie Playboy of the Western 
World, when both were presented by the Irish 
Players during their visit to America in 191 1, 
so The Dreamers was well received by aud- 
iences in which there must have been many 
who were actually preparing to face the same 
death as Robert Emmet in 1916. 

It was at the close of that year that The 
Whitehcaded Boy had its premiere at the Abbey 
Theatre, where it at once enjoyed the success 
and appreciation which were confirmed when 
it was subsequently produced in London. Miss 
Maire O'Neill, who, like so many of the orig- 
inal group of the Irish Players, had left the 
theatre, returned for this occasion and created 
the delightful part of Aunt Ellen, one of the 
xiii 



INTRODUCTION 

finest comedy characters on the modern stage. 
Subsequently, when she repeated the part in 
London she was supported by Miss Sara All- 
good, Mr. Arthur Sinclair and others belong- 
ing to the group of Players who first made the 
Irish Theatre famous. The strength of this 
play undoubtedly lies in the perfect combina- 
tion of form and content, and the natural, 
unstrained drollery of speech combined with a 
subject which develops realistically and logi- 
cally, yet whose humor is that of cumulative 
effect. There is not a deliberately manufac- 
tured phrase in it, not one situation that is 
forced and stagey, for the whole comedy arises 
out of the relations which inevitably establish 
themselves between the characters. An attrac- 
tive innovation, too, is the narrative form of 
the stage directions, which in the printed text 
enable the reader to have the illusion of listen- 
ing to a living commentary. After the 
telegraphic jargon of the conventional stage 
direction, and the garrulous dissertations of 
Bernard Shaw, Mr. Robinson's method is 
pleasing and original. "Kate's off to the 
kitchen now. Aren't I after telling you she's 
a great help to her mother!" Even between 
brackets this is preferable to "Exit Kate, L. 
U. E.," or words to that effect. 

Before writing The Whiteheaded Boy, Len- 
nox Robinson had been at work upon a novel 
which was in the publishers' hands in Dublin 
xiv 



INTRODUCTION 

when the Easter Rising took place, but the 
manuscript was destroyed in the bombardment 
of the city. When A Young Man from the 
South eventually appeared, its singular appro- 
priateness to the occasion was apparent, for 
it is a study of the evolution of a young Irish- 
man from loyal Unionism to passionate nation- 
alism. The protagonist is drawn from the 
life of a Southern Irish city like that in which 
the author's own youth was passed. He comes 
to Dublin and is gradually converted to a belief 
in the national identity of his country, so that 
Mr. Robinson has many opportunities of des- 
cribing the various social and intellectual 
groups which go to the making of that fascin- 
ating city. The publication of this book coin- 
cided with that of several novels purporting 
to describe the condition of Ireland during 
the years of Sinn Fein, but few have the dis- 
passionate reality of Mr. Robinson's. Although 
a careful and sympathetic observer, he was not 
a partisan, and neither indulged a malevolent 
spleen against the nationalist enthusiasts nor 
romanticised the facts. His humor plays 
equally with the naivetes of what is known as 
"Irish Ireland" and the pretentions of its 
counterpart "West Britain." Although after 
the insurrection, he had actually to re-write the 
story, he scrupulously refrained from making 
copy out of the living and the dead who par- 
ticipated in that adventure. The temptation 

XV 



INTRODUCTION 

to do so was strong, because it had been done by 
one of his contemporaries in a novel which 
was pubHshed at the same time, and it would 
have provided a natural denouement to his 
story. But in a foreword he explained his 
scruples. "The combining of real events with 
imaginary persons seemed likely to lead readers 
to combine real persons with imaginary events 
in the book, a result which would offend the 
living and be unjust to the dead." Thus this 
work, which is an imaginative reconstruction 
of what others reported photographically, was 
deprived by the author's delicacy of a powerful 
extraneous aid to popular success. 

Since The Whiteheaded Boy Mr. Robinson 
has given The Lost Leader to the Irish Theatre 
and has published another volume of fiction, 
Eight Short Stories. In the former he makes 
the daring experiment of writing a play based 
upon the popular Irish superstition that Parnell 
is not dead, but living in obscurity, and he 
actually sets him upon the stage to face the 
situation of an Ireland whose policy is Sinn 
Fein. In the latter work he has collected a 
sheaf of sketches of contemporary life, with 
some successful ventures into the realm of the 
supernatural, which indicate that his crafts- 
manship in fiction is advancing as surely as in 
the theatre. For the rest, his life is crowded 
with activities without being eventful, a rare 
circumstance in Ireland! He is immersed in 
xvi 



INTRODUCTION 

the work of building up Irish rural libraries, 
which is being carried out under the auspices 
of the Carnegie Trust. Nevertheless, he has 
never lost his active interest in the Irish 
Theatre. 

In the autumn of 1918 he made an effort to 
supplement the scope of the Abbey Theatre 
by launching, with the co5peration of W. B. 
Yeats, James Stephens and myself, the Dublin 
Drama League, which was thus the first institu- 
tion of the kind in the British Islands. Our 
desire was to enable plays to be produced of 
the kind which did not come within the inten- 
tions of the Abbey Theatre. During the first 
year, Mr. Robinson was secretary of the 
League and gave his services as producer, with 
the result that a successful series of Continental 
and other plays were given in Dublin for the 
first time. Then he became, for the second 
time in his career, manager of the Abbey 
Theatre and pulled it out of the rut into which 
it had subsided after the Players began to 
disperse and their substitutes had not yet found 
their feet. This excellent process of rehabilita- 
tion was unfortunately checked during the last 
year by the restrictions of the military curfew 
law, which put even the most prosperous 
commercial theatres to great losses. But since 
the armistice hope is revived and Mr. Robinson 
is courageously announcing his determination 
to begin all over again, for now it will be 
xvii 



INTRODUCTION 

necessary to form a new company of players 
and to train them in the traditions of the 
Theatre. Of the best that has been created in 
those traditions The Whitelieaded Boy is an 
example, and Lennox Robinson deserves well 
of all who have a care for the Irish Theatre. 
At the outset of that brave undertaking W. 
B. Yeats's aim was to secure an audience for 
"the half dozen minds who are likely to be the 
dramatic imagination of Ireland for this gener- 
ation." The author of this play has obviously 
established his claim to be counted amongst that 
number. 

Ernest Boyd. 



New York, September, 1921. 



XVlll 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 



CHARACTERS 



■ her Children. 



Mrs. Geoghegan. 

George 

Peter 

KA.TE 

Jane 

Baby 

Denis 

DoNOUGH Brosnan, engaged to Jane, 

John Duffy, Postmaster and Chairman, R.D.C. 

Delia, his Daughter, engaged to Denis. 

Hannah, a Servant. 

Aunt Ellen. 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Act I 

[Mrs. Geoghegan's house is at the 
head of the street, facing the priest's 
house; the shop is at the other end of the 
village, between Michael Brosnan's 
public-house and Duffy's yard. Wil- 
liam Geoghegan (God rest his soid) was 
a very genteel man, and ivhen the wife 
brought him the house and the bit of land 
instead of getting a tenant for it like a 
sensible man {and the whole village knew 
Clancy, the vet., was mad to take it) 
nothing would do him but live in it him- 
self and walk down to his business every 
day like a millionaire. 'Tis too high 
notions poor William always had — and 
his sister, Ellen, zvorse again than him- 
self, craning after anything new she'd be 
like a cow through a fence — but, indeed, 
William's notions didn't stand too well 
to him, and when he died he left his fam- 
3 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

ily — six of them, no less — in a poor 
enough way. But the eldest boy — George 
— ivas always terrible industrioiis, and he 
made two of himself after the father 
died, and they managed to pull along. 
You can see from the appearance of the 
room we're looking at they're not wanting 
for comfort. Mrs. Geoghegan — poor 
William's widow (that's her behind the 
table setting out the cups) — is a hearty 
woman yet, and, after all, I suppose she's 
not more than sixty- five years of age. A 
great manager she is, and, indeed, she'd 
need to be with three unmarried daugh- 
ters under her feet all day and two big 
men of sons. You'd not like to deny 
Mrs. Geoghegan anything she's such a 
pleasant way with her, yet you know she's 
not what I'd call a clever zvoman, I mean 
to say she hasn't got the book-knozuledge, 
the "notions" her husband had or her 
sister Ellen. But maybe she's better 
without them, sure what good is book- 
knowledge to tJie mother of a family? 
She's a simple, decent wonmn, and what 
more do you want? That plain girl be- 
hind, pulling out the drawer, is the eldest 
daughter Kate. She was disappointed a 
few years back on the head of a match 
was made up for her and broken after- 
wards with a farmer from the east of the 
4 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

county. Some dispute it was about the 
fortune, and he married a publican's 
daugJiter in the latter end. 'Tisn't likely 
Kate will ei^er marry, she's up to thirty- 
six by this ti?ne, with a grey streak in her 
.hair and two pushing sisters behind her, 
but she's a quiet poor thing, no harm in 
her at all, very useful in the house, I'm 
told. I'm sure the mother' d be hard set 
to manage without her. 

You're admiring the furniture? 'Twas 
got five years ago at the Major's auction. 
A big price they had to pay for it too, 
George didn't want to buy it but the 
mother's heart was set on it. They got 
new horse-hair put on the arm chair, the 
Major had it wore to the zvood sitting all 
day ozfer the fire, cursing the Government 
and drinking whiskey; the six plain chairs 
are as good as new. 

Aren't the pictures lovely? They're all 
enlarged photographs of William's farn- 
ily. That's William himself over the 
chimney-piece, and that's his brother that 
died in Boston hanging betzveen the win- 
dow and the door. The priest in the plush 
frame is Father Maguire, no relation 
but a lovely man. There's one fancy pic- 
ture, there on our right, "The Siesta" it's 
called — two young women asleep in some 
sort of a fancy dress. 
5 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

William bougJit the piano when he 
got married, I'm told it was old Doctor 
Purcell's. Anyway it's a real old piano; 
the youngest girl, Baby, is a great one for 
music. The table's mahogany, the same 
as the chairs, only you can't see it by rea- 
son of the cloth. They're after setting the 
tea; they got that lamp new this after- 
noon, isn't it giving great light? Begob, 
there's a chicken and a shape and apples 
and a cake — it must be the way they're 
expecting company. 

Oh, the old one? That's Hannah. 
There's not a house in the village she 
hasn't been servant m. She was at a hotel 
in Cork once. Two days they kept her.] 



Hannah. 
Will I bring in the ham, ma'am? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Do. Reach me down the silver teapot, Kate. 

['Tisn't real silver, of course, only one 
of them white metal ones, but catch Mrs. 
Geoghegan calling it anything but the 
purest silver. She's smelling it.] 

There's a sort of musty smell from it. 
6 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
Kate 

Sure we haven't used it since Denis was here 

in the summer? 

Mrs. Geog. 

I'll make Hannah scald it. . . . God help 
us, is that the kitchen clock striking six? 

Kate 

Ah, that clock is always apt to be a bit fast. 
Anyway the train isn't due till the quarter, and 
it being market-day, 'twill be a queer thing if 
it's not ten minutes late, or more. 

[Hannah's in again with the ham.] 

Mrs. Geog. 

Put it there. Now run across to Mrs. 
O'Connell's, like a good girl, and ask her to 
oblige me with a couple of fresh eggs. Tell 
her it's for Denis they are, and she'll not re- 
fuse you. 

Hannah. 

There was a duck egg left over from the 
dinner. 

Mrs. Geog. 

A duck egg! Isn't it well you know Denis 
7 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

has no stomach at all for coarse food? Be off 
across the street this minute. 



Hannah. 
I will, ma'am. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Here, carry the teapot before you, and give 
it a good scalding; 'tis half musty. 

Hannah. 
I will ma'am. {And off with her) 

Mrs. Geog. 
Where's Baby? 

Kate. 
She's above in the room, writing. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Musha! writing and writing. Isn't it a 
wonder she wouldn't come down and be ready- 
ing the place before her brother? 

Kate. 

Ah, what harm? 'Twon't take us two min- 
utes to finish this. 

8 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

[This tall girl coming in is Jane. She 
has a year or two less than Kate. A 
nice, quiet girl. She and Donough 
Brosnan have been promised to each 
other these years past. Is it chrysanthe- 
mums she has in her Jiandf] 

Jane. 

These are all Peg Turpin had. She stripped 
two plants to get them. 

Mrs. Geog. 



They're not much indeed, but Denis always 
id a liking for flower: 
the middle of the table. 



had a liking for flowers. Fut them there in 



Jane. 

That's what Peg was saying. She remem- 
bered the way when he was a little child he'd 
come begging to her for a flower for his coat, 
and never could she refuse him. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Refuse him! And why would she refuse 
him? . . . Bring me the toasting-fork, Kate. 
I'll make the bit of toast here; 'twill be hotter. 

[Kate's off to the kitchen now. Amn't 
I after telling you she's a great help to her 
mother?^ 

9 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Jane. 
I met Aunt Ellen up the street. 

Mrs. Geog. 

For goodness' sake ! Did she say she was 
coming here? 



Jane. 



She did. 



Mrs. Geog. 

Oh, then, bad luck to her, what a night she'd 
choose to come here ! Where are we to put 
her to sleep? 

Jane. 

If we put Denis to sleep in the room with 
George and Peter 



Mrs. Geog. 

You'll do no such thing. I'll not have Denis 
turned out of his room. The three of you girls 
must sleep together in the big bed; that's the 
only way we can manage. . . . What crazy 
old scheme has Ellen in her head this time, I 
wonder ? 

Jane. 

She didn't tell me, but by her manner I 
know she's up to something. 
10 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

God help us! And Denis will be making 
game of her, and maybe she won't leave him 
the bit of money after all . . . There's a 
man's voice — 'tis Denis. 

[What a hurry sJie's in to open the 
door.] 
Ah, it's only Donough. 

[He's not much to look at, is he? A 
simple poor fellow, it's a wonder he had 
the spunk to think of getting married at 
all. Jane coidd have done better for her- 
self, but she thinks the world of the little 
man. God knows what she sees in him. 
Aren't women queer, the fancies they 
take?] 

Donough. 

Good-night, to you. 

[Here's Kate back with the toasting- 
fork.] 

Jane. 

Good-night, Donough. 

Donough. 

Good-night, Jane. Have you your tea 
taken ? 

Jane. 

I haven't. 

11 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

DONOUGH. 

I wanted you to come across to the Tem- 
perance Hall to the concert. I didn't think I 
could get off in time, but I can. Swallow 
your tea and come on. 

Jane. 

Oh, Donough, I'd like to, but, you see, 
Denis is coming on the six o'clock. 

Donough. 

Yerra, Denis will keep. Get your hat and 
come on. 

Mrs. Geog. 

What's that, Donough? Jane, where are you 
going ? 

Jane. 

Nowhere, mother. Donough wanted me to 
go to the concert with him. 

Mrs. Geog. 

She couldn't go out to-night, thank you, 
Donough. She must be here to look after 
Denis. 

Jane. 

I'd better stay, Donough. 
12 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

To-morrow night, now, she'd be dehghted. 
And maybe Denis would go with the two of 
you. That would be nice, now. 

DONOUGH. 

Oh, faith, that would be grand — grand en- 
tirely! Only, you see, there's no concert to- 
morrow night. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Isn't that a pity, and Denis so fond of music. 
. . . . 1 left a drop of cream on the kitchen 
table; fetch it for me, Kate. 

Jane. 
Stay and have a cup of tea, Donough. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Sure, I suppose the man had his tea an hour 
ago. 

Donough. 

I had, indeed, Mrs. Geoghegan. I'll say 
good-night to you. Take care of Denis. 
{He is going.) 

Jane. 

I'll see you as far the door, Donough, 

[^They're gone.] 
U 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

What at all was Jane thinking of, asking a 
stranger to stop to tea to-night? 

Kate. 

What stranger? Is it Donough? Sure he's 
like one of the family, and will be in real earn- 
est the day he marries Jane. 



Mrs. Geog 

J sometii 
husband will he make her 



I'm wondering sometimes what sort of a 



Kate. 
The best in the world. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I don't know. He's a queer, selfish man. 
Wanting Jane to go out with him to-night. 
{She's going to the door. ) Hannah ! Hannah ! 
. . . God help us, she'll be all night gossiping 
at O'Connell's. (She's listening at the door.) 
Who's that going out? 

A Voice. 

It's me, mother. 

14 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

Come in here to me, Baby. 

\^Here she comes. Isn't she a great 
lump of a girl? She's thirty if she's a 
day, hut she doesn't look it — 'tis the way 
she dresses I suppose. She's a great idea 
of herself entirely, it's as much as the 
mother can do to hold her in. A long en- 
velope she has in her hand.] 

Baby. 
Can I do anything for you? 

Mrs. Geog. 

We're through now, Baby, small thanks to 
you. Where are you off to? 

Baby. 
Only to Duffy's to post this. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Is it love-letters you were writing all day? 

Baby. 

You know well it wasn't. Only my short- 
hand for Skerry's. 

15 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

Shorthand, moyah ! I'd sooner they were 
love-letters. I've heard it said Thomas 
Naughton married Julia Roche for her lucky 
hand with butter, but I never heard yet of a 
man marrying a girl for shorthand. 

Baby. 

I'm not wishing to get married, thank you. 
It's not my intention to spend my days in Bal- 
lycolman. Up to Dublin I'm going, and if I 
marry there, it's a gentleman I'll marry — a 
gentleman who works in an office. {That's 
Baby for you\) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Tell Jane to come in out of that. She's at 
the door saying good-night to Donough for 
the last half hour. {Ojf she goes.) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Kate, what did I ever do to have such a fool 
for a daughter ? 

Kate. 
Ah, she's young; little more than a child. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Faith, it's time she learned sense. . . . 
16 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Now, if Hannah would bring the eggs we'd 
be ready. You brought in the drop of cream ? 

Kate. 
It was here all along, mother. 

[Here's Ellen Geoghegan herself 
along with Jane. You could tell from 
her appearance the sort sJie is, a bit 
cranky and a nasty twist to her tongue if 
she liked, ftdl of notions and schemes, 
she's a terrible one for reading; 'tis that 
has her head turned, there's not a week 
she hasn't the "Free Press," the "Eagle," 
and the Supplement to the "Examiner" 
read to the bone. Still and all, she's a 
woman to be respected, sJie must have a 
couple of hundred acres back there at Kil- 
murray, and 'tis she ozvns them three 
small houses at the other end of the vil- 
lage. . . . Yes, indeed, a wonder she 
never married — too many notions, may 
be.] 

Jane. 
Here's Aunt Ellen. 

Mrs. Geog. 

How are you, Ellen? I hope you're good? 

[How sweet they are, kissing!] 
2 17 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

I'm grand, thank you. How are all of you. 
Will it bother you to put me up for the night ? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Not the least bit in the world. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I've a lot to talk over with you all. 

Mrs. Geog. 

You have? And you'll see Denis. We're 
expecting him from Dublin any minute. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Is that a fact? Did he pass his examin- 
ation ? 

Mrs. Geog. 

He did. At least, he told me he'd be sure 
to pass. 

Aunt Ellen. 
That's good news. Twice he's failed. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Small blame to him if he did. He got a sort 

of a weakness the first time — too hard he was 

working, Ellen — and the last time there was a 

cross old fellow examining. Denis told me he 

18 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

couldn't come round him at all; nothing he 
said would please him. Isn't it a wonder, 
Ellen, they'd have such a cross m.an to exam- 
ine them? 

Aunt Ellen. 

I'm told Dublin doctors are a fright for 
crossness. Sure, there was a First Aid class 
over at my own place, and a doctor from Dub- 
lin came down to examine them. Well, three 
girls was all he would pass out of the twenty, 
and one of them had a brother a medical and 
a mother who went mad and drowned herself, 
so she was experienced like. But as to the 
lads, divil a one would wait to be examined 
after they heard how the girls had fared; 
they took to their heels and up to the moun- 
tains with them. Oh, Dublin doctors ! 



Mrs. Geog. 

I tell you then, they're clever men. No one 
knows that better than myself after all I went 
through the time Denis was born. And it's up 
in Dublin Denis will be when he's a doctor. 
He'll never be one of your common dispen- 
saries, hat in hand to every guardian in the 
country. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You're right, Ann, you're right. He's a 
19 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

sight too clever for that. . . . But, tell me, 
are George and Peter inside? 

Mrs. Geog. 

George didn't come up from the shop yet, 
and Peter went down to the station to meet 
Denis. George will be up for his tea any 
minute. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I want to speak to them. Pve a great plan 
in my head. {Look at them all looking at each 
other. She has them wore out with her plans.) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't tell me, Ellen, that 'tis goats again. 
I was thinking the other day it was only by the 
help of God you got shut of those queer out- 
landish goats you had. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I haven't had a goat these two years. 

Mrs. Geog. 
'Tis well for you. 

Kate. 

Another time you were for making a for- 
tune out of tobacco. 

20 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Jane. 

Another time it was Muscovy ducks — cross, 
wild things ; they had me in dread every time I 
went to see you. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Well, I have spirit in me and independence. 
I'm not like the common farmer people, plod- 
ding on in the same old rut from generation 
to generation. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't mind the children, Ellen. It's only 
joking they are. Tell us what's on your mind 
now. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Well, I've been reading a deal lately about 
co-operation. 

Mrs, Geog. 
What? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Co-operation. They say it will be the sal- 
vation of Ireland. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Wisha, don't believe them. They're always 
blowing about this, that, and the other, and 
21 



THE JVHITEHEADED BOY 

saying it's to be the salvation of the country. 
Sure, they must be talking, the creatures. In 
my young days it was the Land League; then 
it was Parnell; a couple of years ago 'twas 
them Sinn Feiners were to save us, or John 
Redmond — I don't rightly remember which. I 
wouldn't believe one of them. Pull away and 
do your work and put money in the Bank; 
that's the only thing to do. Anyway, George 
says co-operation will be the ruin of us. 
(She's a rock of sense, tJiat woman.) 

Aunt Ellen. 

Well, I'm surprised at him, and he a shop- 
keeper and a farmer. By all accounts, it 
should be a great lift to him. Anyway, my 
co-operatoin is going to be a lift to the family. 
Listen here to me, Ann . . . 

[Here's George now. The eldest of- 
the family. A steady man, a bit soured, 
maybe, but who wouldn't be and that 
string of sisters depending on him. He 
was forty last summer, but he looks 
more.] 

George. 

Is the tea ready, mother? 

Mrs. Geog. 

We'll have it the very minute Denis comes. 
22 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
I didn't see you, Aunt Ellen. How are you. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I'm good, thanks. You're looking well. 

George. 

I can't wait, mother. Let me have a cup of 
tea. I have to go back to the shop. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't sit there, like a good boy; you'll toss 
the table. {But lie sits all tJie same.) 

George. 
Ham, chicken, apples, a cake — is it a party? 

Mrs. Geog. 

Not at all — only Denis coming, and he'll 
want a bit after the journey. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You spoil Denis, Ann. He was always your 
whiteheaded boy. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Indeed he's nothing of the kind. I don't 
make a pin's point of difference between one 
23 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

child and another. . . . Hannah would give 
you a nice cup of tea in the kitchen, George. 
There's bread-and-butter there, and a lovely- 
duck &gg was left over from the dinner. Run 
and tell her, Kate. 

George. 
I'll go myself. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Stay here a minute. I've been telling your 
mother of a great plan I have. 

[There's Kate ojf to give the message. 
Didn't I tell you that's the sort she wasf] 

George. 
What ails you now. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Did you ever hear of a co-operative shop, 
George ? 



George 

id. I'd hav( 
them. 



I did. I'd have nothing to do with one of 



Aunt Ellen. 

Why? 

24 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

They're bad. Ruining honest traders, that's 
what they're doing. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Is that a fact? Well, we're starting one 
over at Kilmurray. 

George. 
You are? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Up there in the mountains you know how 
hard it is for us to get anything. Sylvester 
Brannigan is the only one who's by way of 
being a trader, and God knows I wouldn't have 
it on my conscience that I called him an honest 
one. So a lot of us have joined together and 
we're going to open a store there. It's going 
to be a great thing for the family. 

George. 
How so? 

Aunt Ellen. 

The papers say that half the success of a 
co-operative shop depends on the manager. 
We're going to give a good salary to our 
manager — up to £150 a year — and there's a 
small house and an acre of land. 
25 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
And who is he to be? 

Aunt Ellen. 
Your own brother, Peter. 

George. 
Peter ! 

Mrs. Geog. 
For goodness' sake ! 

Aunt Ellen 

Isn't he just the man for the place? He 
knows all about a shop; he's clever and hard- 
working, and if he was out of this, Donough 
could marry Jane and come in and work in 
his place. 

Jane. 

Oh, Aunt Ellen, aren't you the great woman 
for plans! 

Aunt Ellen. 

A minute ago I was the greatest old fool 
in the world. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I hear steps in the street. Run out, Jane, 
if it's the tra 
[Jane's ojf.^ 



and see if it's the train after coming in 



26 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Would it cost a deal of money, Ellen, to get 
that place ? I suppose there'd be an amount of 
canvassing to be done? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Not at all. Isn't Jamesy Walshe, Don- 
ough's mother's cousin? Won't he want Peter 
to get it? Isn't Patrick Hogan married to 
John Duffy's sister, and is he likely to be un- 
friendly to Denis's brother, to the brother of 
the man his niece, Delia Duffy, is going to 
marry? Not at all. And then there's myself, 
who started the whole thing. I tell you, Peter 
wouldn't be called on to spend as much as half- 
a-crown in a public-house. 

George. 
It might suit Peter all right. 

Mrs. Geog. 

But, George, if them co-operative things are 
as bad as you say, maybe we oughtn't to let 
Peter be mixed up in them. , 

George. 

Sure, somebody's got to get that £150, and 

we might as well get it as another. God knows 

we want money badly. I'm striving to put 

enough by for Jane's marriage — and now 

27 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

nothing will do Baby but to hyse up to Dublin 
learning book-keeping or shorthand or some- 
thing. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Glory be to God! Is it notions she has? 

George. 

Ay, notions. But they're notions that cost 
me money, and it costs a lot to make Denis a 
doctor. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Well, the Creegans made their son a doctor, 
and I'm sure they're in a very small way. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Is it that little snipeen of a fellow — Joe 
Creegan? Sure you wouldn't put him along- 
side my Denis. He's no smartness. 

George. 

Denis is smart enough to run up debits in 
Dublin- 

Aunt Ellen. 
Debts ! 

George. 

Ay, and betting on horses. 
28 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

From the time he was a Httle fellow he was 
always fond of horses, Ellen. I remember 
well one day, and he little more than a 
baby 

George. 

Well, he's a bit too damned fond of them 
for me. 

[Here's Kate hack.'] 

Kate. 

I've a nice cup of tea for you ready in the 
kitchen 

George. 

Thank you, Kate. We'll speak again about 
this. Aunt. You're staying the night, I sup- 
pose? 

Aunt Ellen. 
I am. 

[And Baby and Jane in now.] 

Baby. 

How are you. Aunt Ellen. {More kissing.) 
Mr. Duffy gave me this at the Post Office. I 
suppose it's for you, George. ^Tis a tele^ 
gram. ) 

29 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

A telegram! Oh, has something happened 
to Denis? I knew he should be here before 
this Oh, George, what is it at all at all? 

Jane. 

Be easy, mother. 

YShe's all in a flutter. Wisha, she's 
cracked about Denis. 'Tisn't so easy to 
stir George. . . . He's read it now.^ 

George. 

It's not from Denis, at all. ... But I think 
it's for him. 

Mrs. Geog. 
What's in it? 

George. 

"Hard luck. Geoghegan's Hope also ran. 
Sorry. Flanagan," 

Mrs. Geog. 
What does that mean? 

George. 

I know no more than yourself. 
30 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
Show me it. There doesn't seem sense or 



meanms: m it. 



Jane;. 

You've some idea in your head about it, 
George ? 

George. 

I have. It's my beHef it's about a horse- 
race. It's my beHef Denis has been betting 
again. {He'll he losing his temper in a 
minute. ) 

Kate. 

He wouldn't. He gave you his word he 
wouldn't. 

Aunt Ellen. 

'Tis a terrible curse, I read on "The Eagle" 
only last week of a young man who shot him- 
self on the head of all the money he lost on 
horses. 

Mrs. Geog. 
You frighten me, Ellen. 

George. 

You need have no fear of Denis. He'll not 
be the one to pay; 'tis us will have to do that, 
31 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 
That's a fact. 

George. 
It'll be the last time. I'm damned if- 



Kate. 
Hush, hush, George! 

[Jane's looking at the telegram now.] 

Jane. 

Flanagan. That's the name of the young 
gentleman came to see Denis on a motor bi- 
cycle last summer. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I remember him myself. A lovely young 
gentleman. Seemingly he had a great liking 
for Denis — he talked to me about him for a 
long time, half laughing like. The "hope of 
the Geoghegans" he called him. 

George. 

What's that? The "hope of the Geoghe- 
gans"? Did he call him that? 
32 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

He did. Denis told me 'twas a sort of a pet 
name he put on him in college. 

Jane. 
What is it, George ? 

George. 

"Geoghegan's Hope also ran." That's 
either a race horse, or it's Denis himself. 

Jane. 
I don't understand you. 

George. 

He's either broken his word to me and is 
betting on horses, or else . . . he's failed 
again. 

Jane. 

His examination, you mean? 

George. 
I do. 

Jane. 
God help us ! 

Mrs. Geog. 

Yerra, he hasn't failed. Don't think it, 
^ 33 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. He told me himself last week in a 
letter he'd be certain to pass. 

Kate. 
'Tvvould be terrible for him if he failed. 

Baby. 
'Twould be terrible for us, you mean. 

Mrs. Geog. 

He'd never break his word to you about the 
betting. 

George. 

For his own sake I'd almost hope he had. 
For if this isn't about a horse, if it's about 
Denis himself, if it means he's failed, I'll — 
I'll 

Mrs. Geog. 

You're speaking very cross, George, about 
your brother. 

George. 

I have reason to speak cross. If he's failed 
for the third time, divil another penny will he 
get from me — except his passage to Canada. 

[They're staring at him; they don't 
believe him.] 

34 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

I mean it. You're all looking at me as if I 
was out of my senses. It's out of our senses 
we've been all these years and years, spending 
lashings of money on an idle, good-for-nothing 
young fellow. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Yerra, George ! . . . 

George. 

From the day he was born, hasn't every- 
thing been given to him? Look at the whips 
of money laid by for his education. He was 
too grand and too clever to be sent to the 
National School like the rest of us — poor Mr. 
Lacy didn't know enough to teach him ; oh, no ! 
he had to go into the city every day by train — 
second-class — to be taught by the Christian 
Brothers. Look at Kate there, worn and grey 
before her time, an old maid. Wouldn't she 
have b^en married ten years ago to Jer Connor 
only we hadn't a penny to give with her, it all 
being kept for the laddo, to send him to col- 
lege. Trinity College, nothing less would be fit- 
ting of course. And what's there to show for 
it all? Nothing at all. He doesn't even pass 
his examinations. What's keeping Jane from 
marrying Donough, only Denis? What's 
keeping Baby at home, and she mad to be 
learning up in Dublin, only Denis? What's 
35 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

keeping us straitened and pinching and sav- 
ing, only Denis, Denis, Denis? But the old 
horse learns its lesson in the end, and I've 
learnt mine. Not another red halfpenny will 
he get from me. You can tell him that when 
he comes in. 

[And off with him, banging the door 
after him.] 

Mrs. Geog. 

Ellen, what's come to him at all to speak 
like that? 

Baby. 

It's true what he says. Every word of it's 
true. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Hold your tongue, girl ! 

[TJiat's one for Baby^ she's flouncing 
out of the room.] 

Kate, run after your brother and pacify him. 

[She's gone, but what can she do, the 
creature?] 

What's come to him at all at all ? 

Aunt Ellen. 

'Tis true, you always made a pet of the boy 
— but sure we all did. I was reading in the 
36 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

"Girl's Friend" not long ago how foolish it 
was for a mother to be making differences be- 
tween her children. They said that — 

Mrs. Geog. 

And why shouldn't I make differences? Is 
there anyone living who'd stand up on the floor 
and say that Denis isn't smarter and cleverer 
than his two brothers — or his sisters, either — 
or the whole menagerie of the Geoghegans 
lumped together? From the day he was born 
I knew he was different. Oh, Ellen, it will 
break my heart if George turns against him 
now! {Is it crying she is?) 

Aunt Ellen. 

Quiet yourself, Ann. ... Go out, Jane, 
and speak to your brother. He always had 
respect for you. 

Jane. 

ril see what mood he is in. {Sixes gone 
after him — she knows how to humour him.) 

Mrs. Geog. 

From the day he was born I knew he was 

different. I was getting an old woman when 

he came . . . you remember, Ellen; it was 

nearly ten years after Baby was born. I 

37 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

thought I'd never have another child; it seemed 
Hke a miracle. ... I thought I'd die with it. 

Aunt Ellen. 
You were nervous, I remember that. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Nervous? I was mad afraid. My sister — 
poor Bridgie — made me go up to Dublin to see 
a doctor there. Oh, Ellen, that doctor was a 
lovely man. He was a sort of a lord, Sir Denis 
Bellingham Burke, that was his name. He'd 
have nothing to do with common cases, 
'twould be no use going to him with a broken 
leg or a sick stomach or the like — he wouldn't 
look at you. Women like me, those are all he'd 
see, and he told me . . . 

\^She's whispering. We oughtn't to 
listen: 'Tis no place for iis.'\ 

Aunt Ellen. 

I remember your telling me that at the time. 
It was surprising. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Wasn't it now? Well, I did every mortal 

thing he told me to. I went into a sort of 

hospital — I'd be afraid to tell you what they 

made me pay — but I had the best of every- 

38 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

thing, and when Denis was born I called him 
after the dear doctor. 



Aunt Ellen. 

And made up your mind to make a doctor 
of him. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I did. 'Twas like a miracle, a boy to come 
after all those three lumps of girls. . . . He 
was a lovely child . . . and now if George 
turns against him! Sure he has the money, 
and can do what he likes. Denis away in 
Canada! 'Twould break my heart. 

[Kate's hack.^ 

Kate. 

He's ramping and raging in the kitchen. 
He says if the telegram is true, if he's missed 
his examination, he'll ship him ofif next week. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I'll go to George myself. I'll talk him over. 
He can't be in earnest. And what about Delia 
Duffy? Isn't he promised to her as soon as 
ever he's a doctor? Is she to be shipped to 
Canada along with him? Where's George? 
I'll go to him. 

[God help George when he meets her. 
39 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Ah! here's Denis in the other door. Isn't 
he lovely? You'd know he was from 
Dublin by his clothes and his smartness. 
He's just turned twenty-two.] 

Denis. 
Hullo, mother! 

Mrs. Geog. 

Denis my darling boy! (She's flinging her 
arms round his neck; she'll have him choked.) 

Denis. 

Hold on, mother — or, rather, don't hold on ! 
Don't kill me altogether! 

Mrs. Geog. 
How are you, my poor boy? 

Denis. 

Top hole. Hullo Aunt Ellen; this is an un- 
expected pleasure. {I'd say he was codding 
her from the way he kissed her.) Well, 
Kate. 

[This young girl coming in is Delia 

Duffy. She's not as simple as she looks. 

She's her father's daughter. The fellow 

with her carrying all the luggage is Peter 

40 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

GeoghEgan, he's nothiyig much one way 
or the other.] 

Peter. 
Where will I leave these? 

Denis. 

Oh, chuck them up into my room, like a 
good chap. Here I'll give you this coat. 

[Poor Peter.] 

Mrs. Geog. 

Oh, Delia, I didn't see you. Come in and 
sit down. You went to the station, I suppose ? 

Delia. 

I did. I can't wait, Mrs. Geoghegan, 
thanks. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Yerra, stay and have a cup of tea. 

Delia. 

I must be off home to give my father his 
supper. Denis will come down and see me 
later. There's questions I want to ask him. I 
have it in my mind he's been carrying on with a 
young lady in Dublin. (She is going.) 
41 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
Denis. 



Delia, I swear . 



Delia. 



Ssh ! Don't tell lies on an empty stomach ; 
wait till after tea. 

[^She's gone.] 

Denis. 

But, Delia, I . . . 

[He's gone after her, she has him in 
good order.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

He's looking gay enough now. Little he 
knows what's before him ! 

Mrs. Geog. 
Oh, Ellen ! 

[Here's George, Jane, and Baby.] 

Jane. 
Has he come? 

Aunt Ellen. 

He has. 

42 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

George, you won't be hard on him? He's 
dead tired and hungry. 

George. 
Did he say anything about the examination ? 

Mrs. Geog. 

He didn't; it's likely he doesn't know. It'll 
break his heart when he finds out he's failed — 
if failed he has. Couldn't we keep it from 
him for a day or two? 

Jane. 

It's better he should know it, mother. 
George is right. It's time a change was made. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Jane! 

Jane. 

You never think, maybe, I'd want my 
chance as well as Denis. You never think, 
maybe, Donough will get tired waiting. 

[You zvouldn't think Jane could he so 
bitter. ] 

Baby. 

And I'm not going to stay in this hole of a 
place any longer. 

43 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

You're an unnatural family, that's what you 
are! 

[Denis is hack; he has a box of cigars 
in his hand.] 

Denis. 

What's the confabulation about? Have you 
a match, George ? 

Mrs. Geogh. 
Tell Hannah to bring in the tea. 

[Of course it's Kate tJiat goes.] 

Denis. 

Beastly cold, isn't it? 

[Look at them moving aside so that lie 
can have the centre of the fire.] 

Well, Aunt Ellen, what's the latest? Is it 
true you've been making a fortune turning turf 
into paper? 

Aunt Ellen. 
It isn't 

Denis. 

I'm surprised to hear that. A wide-awake 
woman like you, with a bog of your own. 
44 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

You should keep moving, Aunt Ellen, keep 
moving 

Aunt Ellen. 
Thank you for your advice. 

George. 

Aunt Ellen has some regard for the family. 
She's got a good position in her eye for Peter. 

Denis. 
What's that? 

Aunt Ellen. 
Manager of a shop, a co-operative shop. 

Denis. 

Co-operation? I see. That's the latest 
Sir What's-his-name, the hairy poet chap and 
all the rest of the gang — they'll suit you down 
to the ground. Aunt Ellen. They're just your 
sort. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Do you know them? 

Denis. 

Me? No— thank God! 
45 



THE JVHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
It's time some of us made a little money. 

Denis. 

Oh, if there's money in it. I'm sure there's 
no one knows better than I do how much we 
want money. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Poor boy! 

George. 

No one knows better than you do how to 
spend it. 

Denis. 

Well, it's made to be spent, isn't it? What 
are you grousing about, anyway? Look what 
I brought you. {He's giving him the box of 
cigars.) They're good ones, too. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Oh, George, isn't it good of Denis? He 
never forgets you. (She's glad of the chance 
to soften George.) 

Denis. 

Wait till you see what I have upstairs in my 
bag for you, mother. 

46 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

Thank you, but I'd rather you wouldn't 
spend your money — I mean my money — on 
me. 

Denis. 

Oh, I've been jolly economical lately. I don't 
believe I've had more than ten pounds from 
you since the summer. 

George. 
Ten! You believe queer things. 

Denis. 
Well, not more than twenty — or twenty-five. 

George. 
Tell me this : have you been betting lately ? 

Mrs. Geog. 
George ! 

Denis. 

No. Honour bright. Never once since you 
gave me that rowing. Though I don't mind 
telling you I missed a good thing last week; 
could have made twenty pounds as easily as 
lighting a cigarette. 

47 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Jane. 
You're sure you weren't betting? 

Denis. 

Absolutely. . . . Why you all look disap- 
pointed ... as if you wished I had been 
, . . What's the matter? 

George. 

What does this mean so? {He's giving him 
the telegram.) 

Denis. 
A wire? Is it for me? 

George. 
Read it and see. 

Denis. 

Oh, I suppose it's from Flanagan. He 
said he'd wire the result of the exam. ; it wasn't 
out when I left Dublin. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't mind it, Denis. Have your tea first 
— 'tis nothing at all. 

Baby, 

Be quiet, mother. Can't you let him read it? 

48 



^HE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

Well? 

Denis. 

Oh, I've lost my exam. Isn't that a beastly 
nuisance? I'm not surprised; I guessed I 
hadn't got it. {Faith, it doesn't seem to 
trouble him. ) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Never mind, my poor boy. It doesn't 
matter the least bit in the world. 

[Hannah, Kate and Peter are 
back.] 

Here's Hannah with the tea. . . . Put this 
out of your head and have a bit of chicken and 
a sup of tea. 

[She's coaxing him to the table.] 

Sure, what are those examinations after all? 
Only cross questions and botheration. I never 
could see the use of them. Run off and boil an 
egg, Hannah. 

[Hannah's gone.] 

There's a nice hot cup, now. Drink it and 

don't worry your head over this. 
4 49 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

Oh, I'm not worrying, mother. I'll get it 
next time to a dead cert. ( He's eating his tea 
as if nothing had happened.) 

George, 
You won't. 

Denis. 

Oh, yes, I will. You'll see. I'll work like a 
nigger from now till June. Don't worry about 
it, old chap. Push me over the butter. 

George. 

I've done worrying. I've gone through a 
deal of that in the last few years. 

Denis. 

That's right. Take life easy. That's what 
I do. 

George. 

I've been thinking that. It's time you wor- 
ried round a bit now. 

Denis. 
I'll worry till I get this exam, anyway. 

George. 

I'm not going to ask you to. 
50 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 
What do you mean? You're all looking 
dashed solemn. What is it? 

\He's beginning to feel there's some- 
thing up.] 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't mind George, Denis. He's a bit put 
out to-night, but 

George. 

Mother! We've been thinking things over; 
we think you've been long enough at College; 
it's time you left. 

Denis. 

Left! Leave Trinity! But I'm only half 
through. 

George, 

That's not my fault, is it? 

Denis. 

But I can't become a doctor. I'm not 
qualified. 

George. 

I'm not asking you to be a doctor. 
51 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

But . . . what ... 1 don't understand. 

George. 

Well, here it is in two words. There's been 
enough and too much money spent on you; I'll 
spend no more. Yes, I will though — twenty 
pounds more. That'll pay your passage to 
Canada and leave a bit in your pocket. 

[That's a slap in the face for him. 
There's not a word out of him.] 



You're joking. 



I am not. 



Denis. 



George. 



Denis. 
But . . . but . . . why? 

George. 

Because there's a couple of others here to 
consider as well as yourself. It's fair they 
should get their chance. You've had yours. 

Denis. 

And what am I to do in Canada? 
52 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

You can find out when you get there. 
You've a pair of hands, haven't you? When 
you've an empty belly and a pair of hands, I 
tell you you won't be long finding something to 
do. 

Denis. 

I see . . . Are you all agreed on this — or 
is it only George? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Denis, darling, I'll never desert you. 

Denis. 
Are you all agreed on this? 

Jane. 

I'd be sorry you'd go, but Donough is get- 
ting tired waiting for me. 

Baby. 

You're not the only one wants education. 
I'm not going to stick in Ballycolman all my 
hfe. 

Kate. 

George is right. 

53 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

You've had your chance, Denis, and you've 
thrown it away. It's time you turned round 
and worked for yourself. Let this be a lesson 
to you 

Peter. 
It's time I got a look in. 

Denis. 
Well, I think it's a damned shame. 

[He'll be losing Jiis temper in a minute.] 

George. 

It's your own fault. You brought it on 
yourself. 

Denis. 

I didn't. I didn't ! I never asked to be sent 
to College ; I never asked to have all this money 
spent on me. I'd have been content to live here 
with the rest of you 

Peter. 
You were too clever for the like of us. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Different altogether. 
54 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 
I wasn't. 

Aunt Ellen. 

To look at you standing there amongst them, 
Denis, 'tis easy seen how different you are 

Denis. 

Yes, I'm different now, but whose fault is 
that ? It's not mine. Who was it made me out 
to be so clever ; who insisted on making a doc- 
tor of me, or sending me to Trinity? It was 
all of you. From the time I was a baby you 
treated me as if I was something wonderful, 
and now when you find I'm not what you 
thought I was you kick me out — across the sea 
to Canada, where you'll never hear of me 
again. You give me the education of a gentle- 
man, lashings of money in my pocket, no wish 
denied me, and in the end you tell me I'm to 
be a labourer. 

George. 

There's other work besides farming in 
Canada. 

Denis. 
It's unfair. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I won't let you go, Denis. 
55 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

Oh, I'll go fast enough, never fear. We all 
know what George is when he's made up his 
mind about a thing. He made up his mind I 
was to go to College to be a doctor, and I went. 
Now he's made up his mind I'm to go to 
Canada, and I'll go. He's got the purse ; he 
can do what he likes. 

Aunt Ellen. 

If you weren't a fool you wouldn't be saying 
these things ; he might do great things for you 
yet if he had a mind to. 

Denis. 

I'm asking no favours from him. I'll not 
take a shilling from him. I'll get enough 
some other way to take me out of this; don't 
be afraid you'll be bothered with me. I'll go 
back to Dublin to-morrow. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Denis ! 

Denis. 

I'll be free, anyway, from this to make my 
own life in my own way. I'm tired of other 
people managing it for me. 
56 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

You're vexed with me now. Some day 
you'll be very thankful to me. 

Denis. 

I've no doubt I will. You're giving me a 
great opening. I'm tremendously obliged to 
you all. 

Mrs. Geog. 

It breaks my heart to hear you talk so bitter. 
And Delia — what'll Delia say at all to all this? 

Denis. 

Delia? Oh, you may be sure George has 
some plan in his head for Delia. She's to go to 
South Africa, I suppose, or maybe he's ar- 
ranged to marry her himself. 

George. 

I've no wish to part you. She can marry 
you and go to Canada if she's willing. I'll pay 
the passage for the two of you. 

Denis. 

Thank you for nothing. I'm asking no 
money from you, and I've no intention of ask- 
ing Delia to come out and rough it in Canada. 
She wasn't brought up to that sort of thing. 
57 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Peter. 

John Duffy would give you money with her 
maybe. Enough to set the two of you up in 
Canada. 

Denis. 

I'm asking no favours from John Duffy or 
from any of you. I'll tell Delia the truth; tell 
her I'm being kicked out by my family because 
I'm good for nothing. I'll make an end of the 
whole thing. I'll write to Delia to-night, this 
very minute — I'll go back to Dublin in the 
morning; I'll not stay another night here. 

Aunt Ellen. 

This is hard for you, Denis, but maybe it's 
the best thing that could happen. 

Denis. 

That's it, Aunt Ellen, the best thing in the 
world for all of us. Peter will go out to you, 
Donough will marry Jane, Baby will go to 
Dublin; there'll be plenty of money for every- 
thing. Denis will be — well, it doesn't matter 
a damn where Denis will be. He'll be out of 
the way, at any rate. Babe, darling, get me a 
sheet of paper and an envelope. 

Mrs. Geog. 

My heart's broken between you all. 

58 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Kate. 
Don't take on mother. 

[Baby's brought him the paper. '\ 

Denis. 

Thanks, Babe ; you're a jewel. Look out for 
yourself when you go to Dublin; all the fellows 
in Skerry's will be mad after you. There's 
something really fascinating about you. 

[How bitter he is! Look at the toss of 
her head. They're watching him writing. 
Aunt Ellen's got the girls round her; 
she's speaking in a low voice to them.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

I don't think he should write that to Delia 
about his being turned out. Great laughing 
the neighbours will be having at us, and all the 
talk we made of his cleverness for the last 
twenty years. 

Kate. 
There's truth in that, Aunt Ellen. 

Baby. 

I'd be ashamed to be seen on the street for 
the next twelvemonth, and all we've been blow- 
ing about him. 

59 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

• Peter. 

There's that Httle loan I got partly on the 
good prospects of Mister Denis. 

Aunt Ellen. 

If you'll take my advice you'll give out that 
he's gone out to a good position in Canada. I 
had a brother there once, twenty-five years ago. 
He died without a child. No matter. Can't 
you say Denis has gone out to his cousins — that 
they're in a big way of business? That will 
save your face. 

\^A great idea, sure enougJi.] 

Jane. 
You're a great woman for schemes, Aunt. 

George. 

It's a good idea. We don't want to be dis- 
graced out and out. 

Baby. 

People to laugh at me — 'twould make me 
mad. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Do you hear what we're saying, Denis? 
60 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I do. It's nothing to me what He I leave be- 
hind me. I don't care if they know the truth 
about me. But you can have your own way 
in this, too. I've told her I'm off to Canada 
in two days, and we can't get married. I'll put 
a postscript to say I'm going out to a big 
position. 

Aunt Ellen. 

It's a pity you're so hasty. Delia is a good 
match ; you shouldn't throw her away so smart. 

[He's got the letter done.] 

Denis. 

There ! Send Hannah down to Duffy's with 
it. 

[Jane goes to the door.] 

Jane. 
Hannah, come here a minute. 

George. 

Before you send it, Denis, think again over 
what I've said. I know you're fond of Delia; 
I don't want to come between you. Marry her ; 
I'll send you both to Canada, and I'll put a bit 
of money in your hand. 
61 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

You've washed your hands of me, George. 
You and Deha have got to take the conse- 
quences of it as well as I. 

{Here's Hannah with an egg.] 

Take that note down to Duffy's, Hannah. 

Hannah. 

I will. There's your egg. 'Tisn't laid two 
hours, and Mrs. O'Connell says she'll send you 
in one every day as long as you're here. 

Denis. 

I'll be putting no strain on her hens, 
Hannah. I'm off to-morrow. 

Hannah, 
To-morrow ! Yerra 

Aunt Ellen. 

To Canada he's going, Hannah. To a grand 
position there with his uncle's eldest son. 

Hannah. 

Canada ! For godness' sake ! And is he 
not going doctoring ? 

62 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

This is better than doctoring. A great posi- 
tion he'll have. You can be off now. Tell 
everyone you meet about Denis. 

Hannah, 

I will, to be sure. I'm delighted, Mister 
Denis, things have turned out so well for you. 
Delia Duffy will be burning the house down for 
pure joy to-night. I'll be off as fast as my 
legs can carry me. {God knows that's not say- 
ing much. Still when she's got a bit of gossip 
she'll lose no time.) 

George. 

You're feeling bitter about this, Denis. I'm 
sorry for you. Will you believe me saying I 
think it's for the best? 



Denis. 

You don't care a damn whether 1 believe you 
or not. {That's enough for George. He's 
going out.) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Your tea's cold. Wait till I get you a hot 
sup. Will you have a bit of chicken ? 
63 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I couldn't eat anything. I wish you'd all 
leave me alone. You've got all you wanted 
from me. I'll be gone for ever m the mornmg. 

Mrs. Geog. 

You're beat out. You've a headache, may- 
be? 



I have. 



Denis, 



Mrs. Geog. 



The tea will do you good. I'll get them to 
make you a piece of hot toast. Kate or Baby, 
or one of you, run into the kitchen and make 
a piece of toast — quick. 

Baby. 

I think it's time Denis learned to make his 
own toast, 

Peter. 
I'm not going to make it for him anyway. 

Jane. 

I've other things to do. 

\^Off with them all.\ 
64 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't mind them. I'll make the toast for 
you. It will all come right. 



Denis. 

It's so unfair — so unfair; that's what I 
mind. 

Mrs. Geog. 

It is, it is. {She's kneeling by the fire toast" 
ing bread.) 

Denis. 

It was your fault first, mother. You made 
me out to be something great. 



Mrs. Geog. 

And aren't you? Is there a lad anywhere 
as clever as you? Sure, hasn't everyone the 
same story of your smartness, and they can't 
all be mistaken. 

Denis. 
They are. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Not at all. You'll get what you want in the 
end. You'll see. 

5 65 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I want nothing at all now except to be let 
alone. 

Mrs. Geog. 

My poor boy. ... I never teel as if the 
others were my children the way you are. 

Denis. 
And I've been a bad son to you. 

Mrs. Geog. 

You haven't, you haven't. You've never 
given me a cross word. You mustn't go across 
the sea to Canada. What would I do without 
you, and what would poor Delia do? 

Denis. 
Poor Delia! 

Mrs. Geog. 

Every girl in the place is wild about you. 
They were mad that you'd never look at one 
of them only Delia Duffy. I never thought she 
was half good enough for you; 1 always hoped 
you'd marry a lady from the city, for all John 
Duffy has the Post Office and is Chairman of 
the District Council. . . . But you'd have got 
money with her. 

66 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 
Well, that's all over now. 

Mrs. Geog. 

The toast is just done. Hold it a minute 
and I'll fetch the cup of tea. You can sit there 
and be taking it. 

{Here's Kate back. She has a piece of 
toast on a plate.] 

Kate. 

I made a piece of toast at the fire upstairs. 

[And Jane in the other door with an- 
other piece of toast.] 

Jane. 

Denis, will you Oh, have you been 

making toast? 

[And Hannah's head in at the door.] 

Hannah. 

Have you the toasting-fork there, ma'am? 
Peter wants to make a piece of toast for Mister 
Denis. 

67 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I want none of your toast. You can keep 
your bally toast. 

\^But he's taking the piece his mother 
holds out to him.] 

Curtain. 



68 



Act II 

[The same room again later in the even- 
ing and George and Peter sitting, 
talking. ] 

Peter. 
You think I should take it, then? 

George. 
I do. 

Peter. 
But supposing it fails? 

George. 

Aunt Ellen will stick to it for a year or two, 
and by that time it will have failed or succeed- 
ed. If it's a success, you're game ball; if it 
fails you're no worse off than you are now, and 
there will always be foolish, contrary people 
starting them co-operative things ; that class is 
as thick as thieves and lavish with their money ; 
once you get well in with them they'll not 
69 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

desert you. Besides, you knowing all about 
shopkeeping, you'll be able to make things 
easier for the locals. Do you understand me ? 

Peter. 

Ida 

George. 

Them co-operatives have never succeeded 
yet, but if they ever do — 'twould be bad days 
for us. I'd like to see you there for life, and 
yet 'twouldn't be well to be too successful. 

Peter. 
Ah, there'll be some sort of a middle course. 
[With a wink.'] 

George. 
That's what's in my mind. 

Peter. 

And Donough will marry Jane and come in 
here in my place, and Baby will be up in Dub- 
lin, and Denis will be off our hands. Faith, it 
all fits together as neat as a puzzle. 

George. 

And you could be giving an eye to Aunt 
Ellen's bit of land, and not letting her play 
70 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

puck with it with her contrary schemes, and in 
the end she'll leave it to you, why wouldn't 
she? She'll forget Denis when the salt water's 
between them. 

Peter. 

He's been a weight on us for years; we're 
well rid of him. But all the same, I felt sorry 
for the poor fellow to-night. 



George. 

Ah, he'll do first-class in Canada, Sure, all 
sorts does well out there. I'm only afraid of 
the mother having the life wore out of me fret- 
ting after him. 

Peter. 
She'll get over that in time. 

George. 

Well, she must. I'm not going back on what 
I said about Denis. Go he must. 

\^Here's their aunt.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

George, your mother wants you. She's 
above in her room. 

71 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
Is she after going to bed ? 

Aunt Ellen. 

She is not; she can't get this business of 
Denis out of her mind, the creature. 

George. 

There's no use in her talking of it to me. 
My mind is made up; we're all determined. 
Denis must go. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Even so, a word from you might quiet her. 
Anyhow, she won't take rest till she sees you. 

George. 

I'll go to her so. 

{He's gone. 'Tisn't likely there's any- 
thing he can say will quiet her.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

You'd have to pity her. Denis was always 
her whiteheaded boy, and this is a blow to her. 
Well, we must all go through with it. . . . 
Tell me, are you coming out to Kilmurray? 

72 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Peter. 

I'm after talking it over with George; he 
advises me to go. 

Aunt Ellen. 

He's right. You'll never regret it. I sup- 
pose you know all about co-operation? 

Peter. 
Divil a bit. But I can keep a shop. 

Aunt Ellen. 
That's all we want. 

Peter. 

I'll leave you and the Committee to do the 
co-operating. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You'd better come back there with me to- 
morrow. The sooner you see the Committee 
the better. Not that there's a fear you won't 
get it, for I mentioned your name to them and 
they were agreeable ; but it's best to make sure 
of them ; you never know when they wouldn't 
turn round behind your back and put in an 
ignorant fellow — a fellow who couldn't weigh 
a pound of sugar — just because he was a re- 
73 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

lation of one of them. It's one of the curses 
of the country, giving positions to relations. 

Peter. 
I agree with you, Aunt. 

Aunt Ellen. 

They're a jobbing, ignorant crowd out at 
Kilmurray. . . . There's a knock. Who can 
it be this hour of night? 

Peter. 

Hannah's snoring this half-hour. Til see 
who it is. 

[^He's gone and here he is back and 
John Duffy with him. John is one of 
the solidest men in Ballycolman, Chair- 
man of the District Council, Chairman of 
the Race Committee, and a member of 
every Committee and every League in the 
village. He has three public-houses and a 
grocery business and the Post Office and 
a branch of the National Bank once a 
month, and a trade in old hens and eggs 
and a terrible turn-over in turkeys at 
Christmas. . . . Oh, a weighty man. 
.... Yes, he buried the wife long ago; 
he's no child but Delia. He's not looking 
in too pleasant a humour. '\ 
74 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

Oh, good evening, Mr. Dufify; you're wel- 
come. I was wondering who the knock might 
be. 

Duffy. 

'Tis late for visits, but I slipped up to see 
George for a minute. 

Aunt Ellen. 

He's in the mother's room. Will you tell 
him, Peter? 

[Peter's gone to tell George.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

Will you sit down, Mr. Duffy? . . . 
'Twon't be long to Christmas now. 

Duffy. 
That's true. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You're looking well. How's Delia these 
times ? 

Duffy. 

She's well enough. She got a great throw- 
over to-night. 

75 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
Is that a fact? 

Duffy. 
Is Denis around? 

Aunt Ellen. 
He's not. He's gone to bed. 

Duffy. 
He's going from you, I hear? 

Aunt Ellen. 

He is indeed, poor boy. It's hard parting 
from him, but since it's for his advantage we 
wouldn't stand in his way. 

[Wouldn't anyone believe her the way 
she says itf] 

Duffy. 
To be sure, to be sure. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I always said he was too clever to be a doc- 
tor. When you see the ignorant fellows that 
are turned into doctors, you can't believe, Mr. 
Duffy, that it takes much wit to cut off a man's 
leg or to give him a bottle of medicine. 
76 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
There's something in that. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Now in Canada he'll find an opening suit- 
able to his smartness. A brother of my own 
went out there forty years ago and 'tis wonder- 
ful the way he got on. 

Duffy. 
Is it to his people Denis is going ? 

Aunt Ellen. 

It is. He left a troop of sons and daughters 
after him. 

Duffy. 
And where do they live? 

Aunt Ellen. 
They? — Oh, they live in Saint Paul. 

Duffy. 
I thought that was in the States. 

Aunt Ellen. 

There's a place of that name in Canada, too. 
Do you suppose I wouldn't know my own 
brother's place? 

77 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

I beg your pardon, ma'am; indeed I meant 
no such thing. He's in business, I suppose? 

Aunt Ellen. 

You may say he is, then. By all accounts he 
owns half the town. 

Duffy. 

Do you tell me? Denis will have a fine po- 
sition so. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Oh, the best in the world. Nothing to do 
but superintending like, strolling about with his 
hands in his pockets making other people work 
and putting money in the Bank all the time. 

Duffy. 

Bedad, that sounds a good life. Tell me, 
what class of business has your brother? 

[^That's a facer!] 

Aunt Ellen. 

A mixed business, Mr. Duffy. 

[Good woman!] 
78 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
I see. 

[Here's Peter back with George.] 

George. 
You were wanting me, John? 

Duffy. 
I was. 

George. 
If it's the fertiHzer you're after, I didn't get 
it in yet. I have it ordered a fortnight or 
more. 

Duffy. 

'Tisn't that at all. . . . This is great news 
about Denis. 

George. 
Ay. 

Duffy. 
He's off to Canada? 

George. 
He is. 

Duffy. 

Hannah was blowing about a fine place he's 
going to, and your Aunt was saying the same 
thing just now. It's a fact, I suppose^ 
79 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
That's true. 

Duffy. 
Lashings of money and nothing to do. 

George. 
I believe so. 

Duffy. 

His cousins own the town? 

George. 
They do. 

Duffy. 
'Tis very sudden. 

George. 

That's the way things come, John. Only 
this evening it was settled. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Of course, Denis being so clever, we always 
looked for something big to turn up for him. 

Duffy. 

Delia's in a state over it. 
80 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

Ah, she needn't be. Indeed, we were all 
sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. 
They were only children, John, and with Denis 
going off now there was no use going on with 
it. Delia's a nice little girl ; she's too good for 
Denis 

Peter. 
That's a fact. 

Aunt Ellen. 

She'll take up with someone who'll be a deal 
more suitable. 

Duffy. 

They've been promised to one another for 
two years; as soon as he'd be a doctor they 
were to be married, and now in the heel of the 
hunt he gets a big position in Canada, he 
spreads his sails and away with him, leaving 
her behind. Faith, it looks to me as if you 
thought she wasn't good enough for him. 

{Didn't I know he was near his 
temper. ] 

George. 

Indeed, John, you're making a mistake. 
That's not the way with it at all. It's the 
other way about. 

« 81 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

That's the way 1 look at it, anyway, and 
that's the way the neighbours will look at it. 

George. 
Sure, it's not cross about it you are? 

Duffy. 

Oh no, not at all. There's nothing in the 
wide world a man likes better than to have his 
only child trampled on like dirt, to be left 
fooled, to be made a mock of by the country- 
side. Cross ? What would make me cross ? I 
never felt in a pleasanter temper than I do this 
minute. 

Peter. 
You're talking strange. 

Duffy. 

The two of you will hear stranger talk than 
this before you've finished with the Duffy's. 

George. 
What do you mean ? 

Duffy. 

I mean Denis marries Delia, or else . . . 
82 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
He can't marry her. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Put that notion out of your mind, Mr. 
Duffy. 

Duffy. 

Then if he won't marry her, I put the matter 
into the lawyer's hands to-morrow. £1,000 
damages. 

[_0h, my God!] 

George. 
John! 

Aunt Ellen. 
Mr. Duffy! 

Peter. 



You're raving ! 



Duffy. 



Ay, you think yourselves great people, don't 
you? You've a brother who's a gentleman, 
who is much too high up to get married to a 
Duffy. It's good enough for Delia to be 
thrown aside like an old shoe when the fancy 
takes you. She's not good enough to be 
brought to Canada, to the fine place there 
that . . . 

83 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
John, wait. I . . . 

Duffy. 

But I'll show you you've mistaken your man. 
As long as Delia has a father by her she'll not 
be treated that way. I'll show you! The 
Duffys aren't people to be trampled on 
so easy. I've power to my back — and money — 
more money than you have — and, by the same 
token, I'll see a lump of yours before I'm done 
with you. I'll have the smartest lawyer in Ire- 
land on my side, I got all Denis's letters off 
Delia to-night — oh, there's no doubt of my 
case. I'll beat you to the wall, I'll bleed you, 
I'll teach you the way to treat a decent, honest, 
poor girl who never did you a day's harm only 
demeaned herself mixing with low, sneaking 
people the like of the Geoghegans. Good night 
to you. 

George. 

Stop, for God's sake, Mr. Duffy. You 
don't know what you're talking about. 



Duffy. 

Faith, I do, only too well. 
84 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

'Tisn't true. All that about Canada isn't 
true. 

Duffy. 

Isn't he going there? 

George. 
He is, but not to . . . 

Duffy. 

That's enough about it. 

\^He's going out, hut George is holding 
him hack.^ 

George. 

Don't go. Look here, I'm telling you the 
truth now, the same as if you were a magistrate 
on the bench. He's going to no situation there ; 
he's been kicked out of this because we're 
tired of paying his bills. 

Duffy. 
Do you expect me to believe that? 

George. 

You must believe it. Aunt Ellen, tell him 
that what I'm saying is true. 
85 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

It's true, every word of it. I've no cousins 
in Canada, my brother died unmarried, Denis 
will have to work like a labourer in Canada. 

Peter. 

We're turning him out; he's a useless, idle 
fellow. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Delia's well rid of him; a burden he'd be 
to her. 

George. 

She'll get a man twice as good before the 
year's out. 

Peter. 
He's a waster. 

George. 
No sense at all. 

Peter. 
A gambler, betting all day on horses. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Cards and drink. 

86 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
He has mother's heart broken 

Peter. 
Tis a great escape Delia's having. 

George. 

They'd be in the Union before they'd be a 
year married. 

Aunt Ellen. 
He's a disgrace to the family. 

Duffy. 

Well, what sort of a fool do you take me to 
be at all? Haven't I two eyes in my head? 
Don't I know Denis since the day he was born ? 
Isn't he known to be the cleverest, smart- 
est .. . 

George. 

Not at all. 

Duffy. 

. . . lad in the countryside. Didn't you tell 
me yourself the way he swept all before him in 
the College in Dublin? 

George. 

'Tisn't true. Three times he's after failing. 

87 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

Wasn't he going to be set up there in a big 
house ? 

Peter. 
Not at all. 

Duffy. 

Wasn't his aunt going to leave him all her 
money ? 

Aunt Ellen. 
He'll never get a penny from me. 

Duffy. 

And now you'd like me to turn around and 
disbelieve it all. Ah, you're clever, but you're 
not clever enough for me. 

George. 

You're making a mistake. To-night things 
turned up. 

Duffy. 

They did ; I know well they did. Canada 
turned up, a big position turned up, plans and 
schemes you made to throw us over. I see 
your game. Tell me George, is Saint Paul the 
name of the place Denis is going to? 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
No. 

[Look at Duffy turning on the aunt.] 

Duffy. 

Didn't I know you were lying, ye old brazen 
thing the way I wouldn't be able to trace him 
to bring him back to marry my daughter. But 
I don't care a damn where he is going to. 
You're right, Delia's well quit of him; she's 
well quit of the whole troop of the Geoghegans 
— but I want that £1,000 and I'll have it too. 

Peter. 

It's the truth we're telling you, Mr. Duffy. 
The rest was all lies. 

Duffy. 
I know well it's liars ypu all are. 

[Here's Donough; he's excited like.] 

DONOUGH. 

I couldn't go home till I'd congratulated you 
about Denis. All the people at the concert 
were talking of it. It's over railways he'll be, 
I'm told ; a sort of a railway king. 

George. 

Oh, my God ! 

89 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
Do you hear that? 

DONOUGH. 

George, my mind's made up ; I'm going with 
him. When he has all that power he'll be able 
to do something for the man that's going to 
marry his sister. I'm tired of slaving on here 
and no nearer marrying Jane than I was five 
years ago. Now I'll have her out to me be- 
fore the autumn. What day is he sailing? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Don't mind what the people are saying Don- 
ough. There's not a word of truth in it all. 

DONOUGH. 

Isn't Denis going to Canada? 

Aunt Ellen. 
He is, but not ... 

Donough. 

Well, then, what's to hinder me going along 
with him ? 'Twill be a queer thing if he doesn't 
contrive to get me into a good job out there. 
90 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
He'll do nothing of the sort. 

Peter. 
Put the idea out of your head. 



Why so? 



DONOUGH. 



Duffy. 



Listen here to me, Donough ; I'll tell you 
the way it is. This family's too high up in 
themselves for the like of you or me. We're 
not class enough for them, do you see? The 
Geoghegans are a great people, the Dufifys 
aren't good enough for them at all. We've 
been thrown over; Delia's not a fit match for 
my brave Denis. You'll be the next to go; it 
couldn't be expected that Jane Geoghegan 
would marry Donough Brosnan. They have 
plans of marrying Jane to a lord. 

Donough. 
What's that you say? 



George. 

Don't mind him, Donough. 
91 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

DONOUGH. 

I will mind him. 

George. 

You can marry Jane to-morrow for all I 
care. Duffy's mad. 

Duffy. 

Mad? Take care what you're saying, 
George Geoghegan. There's a law against 
slander and abuse as well as against breaking 
a promise of marriage. Here's my final word 
to you : Denis marries Delia and takes her with 
him to Canada, 

George. 
He can't. 

Duffy. 

Or he finishes his course in Dublin and 
marries her when he's a doctor, the very 
minute he's qualified. 

George. 
He can't. 

Duffy. 
Then I bring an action. £1,000 damages. 
You can take your choice. I'll give you ten 
92 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

minutes to yourselves to talk it over. I've got 
to go and see Magner for a minute. I'll be 
back for an answer. Mind, I mean every word 
I say. The marriage or an action. That's my 
final word to you, you pack of schemers! 

{He's off — what a slam he gave the 
door.] 

Aunt Ellen. 
He's a terrible man. 

George, 
That's a nice fix we're in. 

Peter. 
What the divil can we do now? 



DONOUGH. 

I don't understand what it's all about. 

George. 

We're kicking Denis out to Canada because 
he's a useless, idle, extravagant fellow, and 
Duffy has an idea that he's going out to some 
big place there, and is mad he won't marry 
Delia. 

93 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

DONOUGH. 

Is that the way it is ? I never had much be- 
lief in Denis. 

George. 

I wish to God you could get Duffy and the 
rest to be of the same mind. There's no one 
in the village will believe the truth. 

DONOUGH. 

Sure, there's nothing harder to believe than 
the truth. 

Peter. 
But what are we going to do? 

George. 

Let me think. My head's bursting. What 
was it Dufify said ? Either marry her and take 
her to Canada or go through with College, or 
else the breach of promise. ... I won't send 
him back to College ; I'd rather have the breach 
— 'twouldn't cost me more in the end. Maybe 
Denis might be ten years in Dublin or twenty 
years missing his examinations and spending 
money. Oh, where would it all come from? 
... But £1,000 to go to Duffy, or £500 itself 
— we'd be ruined ; we'd never get it back from 
the shop. 

94 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

DONOUGH. 

Yerra, let Duffy bring the case against Denis 
and bankrupt him. What matter ? 

George. 

Bankrupt him ! Do you think I'm the one 
to stand by and see a Geoghegan broken by a 
Duffy or anyone else? I'd sooner die in the 
Union. There's but the one thing for it. 
Denis must marry her; he must take her with 
him to Canada. 

Aunt Ellen. 

He'll do that all right; sure he's mad to 
marry her. 

George. 

Call him down here, Peter. 

Aunt Ellen. 
He's gone to bed I think. 

George. 

Pull him out of bed, then. This must be 
settled before Duffy comes back. He'll put the 
case into the lawyer's hands to-morrow if we 
don't. 

Peter. 

I'll call him. {He's gone.) 
95 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
It's a terrible upset we're in. 

George. 

It was all your fault with your schemes for 
saving the family's good name. If we'd told 
the truth from the first, this wouldn't be on us 
now. {He's turning on her.) 

Aunt Ellen. 

That's a queer thing to say to me, George. 
Small respect you're showing me. 

George. 
I don't know what I'm saying. 

Aunt Ellen. 

It looks like it indeed. Anyway, the truth's 
a dangerous thing to be saying in a little place 
like Ballycolman. 

DONOUGH. 

It will be all right. Denis will marry Delia, 
and there'll be no more about it. 

George. 

I won't have an easy minute till the pair of 
them are married and gone. Oh Donough, it's 
96 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

an awful thing to be head of a family. Since 
the father died I've not had a minute's rest, 
pulled this way and that way, this one wanting 
to get married, another going into business, 
Baby flying up to Dublin, Denis doctoring — 
many a time I wished I was born an orphan. 

Aunt Ellen. 
God forgive you, 

George. 

It's true, Aunt Ellen. Look at the life I've 
led between you all, and no one ever thinking 
maybe I'd want to get married, or have a bit 
of fun, or spend a bit of money. For two pins 
I'd throw the lot of ye over to-morrow and sail 
away out of this for ever. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Yerra, talk sense, George; that's no way to 
be behaving. 

George. 

There's no escape for me. I'm caught like 
an old cow with her head in a stall. 

{Here's Peter hack with Denis. It 
was no lie saying he was in bed, look at 
his striped pyjamas and his elegant dress- 
ing gown.] 
7 97 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

What do you want me for? Haven't you 
bothered me enough this evening without haul- 
ing me out of bed? 

George, 

Denis, old Duffy has been here raging mad. 
He threatens a breach of promise unless you 
marry Delia. You'll have to do it. You'll 
have to marry her at once. 

Denis. 
What ? Marry Delia ? 

George. 
Yes, and take her to Canada along with you. 

Denis. 
Oh! 

Aunt Ellen. 

I knew you'd be delighted. 'Twas breaking 
your heart parting from her. 

Denis. 
And what are we to live on in Canada? 

George. 

You'll find plenty to live on. 
98 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

A man's lost without a woman out there, 
they say. You'd read on the papers the great 
scarcity of women there is in Canada. 

Peter. 
That's so; she'll be a great addition to you. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Father Murphy would marry you to-morrow 
when he knows the hurry you're in. 

Denis, 

I see. . . . Listen here to me. Haven't I 
agreed to everything you've planned for me all 
my life through. To-night I agreed to go to 
Canada because it's your wish; I agreed to 
break with Delia. Now you want me to take 
Delia off to Canada, without a position, with- 
out a place to go to, with a few pounds in my 
pocket that wouldn't keep us for a month. Put 
the idea out of your head; Fll not do it. 
There's things Fll submit to myself, but I 
won't ask Delia to share them. 

George. 

Do you mean to tell me you don't want to 
marry Delia? You don't care about her? 
99 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I do care for her. That's why I won't marry 
her. 

George. 

That's crazy talk. You'll do all right in 
Canada. 

Peter. 

You won't be there a week before you'll have 
a big position. 

DONOUGH. 

You're sure to do fine. 

George. 
A clever lad like you will get on fast. 

Denis. 

You hadn't much opinion of my cleverness 
an hour ago. I'll have to rough it and take my 
chance with all the others, and as soon as I've 
made a place for myself I'll marry Delia; but 
I'll not ask her to share the roughness and pov- 
erty you're sending me out to. 

George. 

Denis, don't turn on us like this. 
100 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 
You turned on me bitterly to-night, George. 
You've kicked me out, you've wrecked my life, 
you've made me give up Delia. 

George. 
But I want you to marry her now. 

Denis. 
And I won't. You know why. 

George. 
I'd give you a few pounds going to Canada. 

Denis. 
I won't take them. 



George. 
If you went back to College- 



Denis. 
I won't go back to College. 

Aunt Ellen. 

In the name of God, what do you want? 
101 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

I want to be let make my own life in my own 
way. I want to be let alone and not bothered. 
{He's going towards the door.) 

George. 
Where are you off to ? 

Denis. 
To bed, of course — and to Canada. 

George. 
Will you marry Delia? 

Denis. 

No. {A}id he's gone.) 

DONOUGH. 

Wait — Denis {He's gone after him.) 

[Poor George. You'd have to pity 
him.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

And Duffy will be here in a minute for his 
answer. 

Peter. 

Well, it's the breach of promise now, and no 
mistake. 

102 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George 
We're ruined, we're ruined! 

Aunt Ellen. 

Yerra, not at all. Maybe when the fit of 
anger passes John Duffy will think better of 
what he said to-night. But we must stand up 
to him boldly; don't let on we're afraid of 
him. 

Peter. 

Maybe he'd come to terms. 

George. 

I wouldn't demean myself making terms 
with him. Let him bring us into the Courts. 
I'll face him ; I'll not have it said I was afraid 
of him. 

Aunt Ellen. 

That's right. 

George. 
A Geoghegan's as good as a Duffy any day. 

Aunt Ellen. 

And better. 

[There's a knock.'] 

Glory be to God! there he is. 
103 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Peter. 

I suppose I'll have to let him in. 'Twouldn't 
do to pretend we're all gone to bed. 

George. 

I'm afraid of no man. Open the door. 
'Tis terrible, oh, 'tis terrible ! Why did I ever 
open my lips to-night about Denis? ... I'm 
wondering . . . I'm wondering, Aunt, if you 
spoke to Duflfy yourself to-night? You used 
to be good friends long ago, I've heard it said. 
I . . . I . . . 

Aunt Ellen. 

To be sure I'll speak to him; a woman can 
often come around a man. Ye only heat him. 

George. 

I'll have nothing to do with compromises 
and settlements, and it's no surrender, as they 
say in Derry, but — but — do your best for me. 
Whisht! He's coming. I'll be up to speak to 
the mother. 

[And he slips out one door as Peter 
and Duffy come in the other.] 

Duffy. 

Well, ma'am, I'm back. Where has George 
gone to? 

104 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

He slipped up to speak to his mother. Peter, 
go and look for him. 

[Isn't she cute the way she got rid of 
Peter?] 

Won't you sit down? 

Duffy. 

I'd sooner stand. Two minutes will give me 
my answer, I suppose. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Take it easy while you have a chance. . . . 
John Duffy, you're a clever man ; I don't know 
a cleverer. 

Duffy. 
I'm obliged for your good opinion, ma'am. 
{How stiff he is.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

That story of Denis being good for nothing 
is true, but it suits you not to believe it, and 
you're right. I'd do the same in your case. 

Duffy. 

You would? 

105 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

I would so. Oh, I always gave in you were 
one of the smartest men in the country. . . . 
You're looking to getting a deal of money out 
of this action? 

Duffy. 
I am. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I wonder will you. They're queer, chancey, 
uncertain things, breach of promise cases. 
Great expense, a troop of lawyers, terrible 
harrying in the witness-box and maybe twenty 
pounds at the end of it all, or the case dis- 
missed. And Delia such a nervous little girl, 
I wonder you'd like to drag her through the 
Courts. 

Duffy. 

Don't be afraid for Delia ma'am. A thou- 
sand pounds will cover a deal of blushes. 

Aunt Ellen. 

A thousand pounds ! You'll never see the 
quarter of it, no, nor a hundred pounds. It's the 
foolish people who go looking for money in a 
breach of promise case. The wise ones settle 
it up between themselves — and you were never 
a foolish man, Mr. Duffy. 
106 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

I'm foolish enough, anyway, not to let my 
name be trampled in the dirt. It doesn't suit 
me to have Delia treated as if she wasn't good 
enough for a Geoghegan. 

Aunt Ellen. 

'Tis a pity. She'll hardly get married so. 
The lads are shy of having anything to say 
to a girl was in a breach of promise case 
— afraid they'd be the next to be hauled up. 
. . . What good will that do either of you? 
A little bit of money now slipped into your 
hand without bother or lawyers would be more 
value to you. A clever man would settle the 
whole thing for fifty pounds. 

Duffy. 
Would he indeed? 

Aunt Ellen. 

You know well the Geoghegans are a weak 
family. If you got a couple of hundred pounds 
damages itself, who knows would you ever be 
paid? But it doesn't reflect well on me to have 
my nephews dragged into Court. Come, Mr. 
Duffy, if I gave you fifty pounds would you 
withdraw the case? 

107 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

I've got my senses still, thank God. Fifty 
pounds? Keep it. 

Aunt Ellen. 

That's not a civil way to be answering me — 
and yet we were good friends once — John. 

Duffy. 
We were. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I often think of those old days — ah, I 
suppose you've forgotten them long ago. But 
we were good friends. 

Duffy. 

'Twasn't my fault we weren't closer than 
friends. 

[After all, he's sitting down and near 
her too.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

I remember. Those days are gone long ago. 
. . . You'd have given me anything I asked 
then. 

Duffy. 

I would. 

108 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

Do you remember the day you walked twelve 
miles to get a red ribbon I'd set my mind on 
having for the races ? 

Duffy. 
I do. 

Aunt Ellen. 

And now I'm offering you fifty pounds, and 
you throw it back in my face as if I was an 
old hen-woman at a fair. 

Duffy. 
Fifty pounds is no money at all. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Sixty, then . . . seventy . . . Ah, John, 
you couldn't refuse me. . . . for the sake of 
old times . . 

Duffy. 

A lot your talking of old times. Look here, 
Ellen, are you in earnest? Do you want the 
case stopped? 

Aunt Ellen. 

I do so. 

109 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
Then there's a way you can do it. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Tell it to me. 

Duffy. 

You can do what I asked you to do when 
we were boy and girl together. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Mr. Duffy! 

Duffy. 

Why not ? Give me a hundred pounds down, 
and promise me you'll marry me before Shrove, 
and I'll let Denis and the Geoghegans go to the 
divil. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I could never do it. 

Duffy. 

You were near doing it fifteen years ago, 
after I buried the wife. 

Aunt Ellen. 

I've lived my own life always, I'm too old 
to change. I wanted freedom. I wanted to 

110 



The WtilTEHEADED BOY 

live like the birds, I wanted to do what I pleased 
with my own money. 

Duffy. 

You've had your freedom, and what have 
you made out of it? Nothing at all. You've 
run after crazy schemes, goats and the like; 
your farm is gone to waste; you're getting on 
in years, soon you'll be an old woman, Ellen, 
with no one to look after you, only relations 
craving for your money. You'd better have 
me; I'll take care of you, I'll look after you, 
you'll have all the freedom you want. When 
you were a girl, Ellen, you were too proud to 
look at me, and I married Honora Reilly to 
spite you. After she died on me I asked you 
again, but you wouldn't have me. You're the 
only woman I ever wanted. You made me mad 
to-night with your talk of old times. You must 
marry me, you must ! Never will you regret 
it . . . 

Aunt Ellen. 

I couldn't, John. I'm old. I'd like to be 
free. 

Duffy. 
Good-night, so. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Why are you going ? 
Ill 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
What use is there in me staying? 

Aunt Ellen 
But what about the case? 

Duffy. 
I'll see the lawyer in the morning. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You're a hard man. You always get what 
you want. 

Duffy. 

I didn't get the one thing I wanted in all the 
world. 

Aunt Ellen. 

If I gave you a hundred pounds without the 
promise ? 

Duffy, 
'Twouldn't do me 

Aunt Ellen. 
Why do you want to marry me? 

Duffy. 

Contrariness, I suppose. 

[He's kissed her, glory he to God!] 
112 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

Stop, John! You should be ashamed of 
yourself. 

Duffy. 
You'll have me. I see you will. 

Aunt Ellen. 
You're taking a lot for granted. 

Duffy. 

I'm taking you, anyway. {He's kissed her 
again!) 

Aunt Ellen. 
You're a terrible man, 

Duffy. 

Why the divil didn't you let me do that thirty 
years ago, when we were boy and girl together ? 
I made an offer at it one time, and you slapped 
me across the face. 

Aunt Ellen. 
It's what I'd like to do to you this minute. 

Duffy. 

You may then. {Look at him sticking his 
face out to her. ) 

« 113 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
Get along with you! 

Duffy. 

Gripes ! I'd like to get drunk, I'd like to pull 
the house down, I'd like to go bawling singing 
through the streets of Ballycolman ! 

Aunt Ellen. 

I hope you'll do nothing of the kind, a re- 
spectable man like you, with a grown daughter 
and a wife interred. 

Duffy. 

Don't remind me of her. I'm twenty years 
old — not a minute more. 

Aunt Ellen. 

If you keep shouting like that you'll have 
George down. 

Duffy, 

Faith, that reminds me . . . I'll draw up a 
paper and you can sign it. {He's always an 
eye to business.) 

114 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
What are you asking me to sign? 

Duffy 

A promise to pay me a hundred pounds 
down, and that you'll marry me before Shrove 
provided I drop the case against Denis . . . 
Have you your cheque-book handy? 

Aunt Ellen. 
It's here in my bag. 

Duffy, 

Make out a cheque so for me for a hundred 
ppunds. 

Aunt Ellen. 
It's a whip of money. 

Duffy. 

Sure, it's not going to pass out of the family. 
I'll spend it on stocking the farm. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You're a terrible man ... I suppose you 
must have your way. {She's writing him a 
cheque, it must he a fact that she's in love ivith 
him. ) 

115 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

Sign there, now. 

IShe's doing that too. He's got the 
cheque and the paper signed and into his 
breast pocket they go.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

For the love of goodness don't breathe a 
word of this to the Geoghegans. They'd have 
my life for making terms with you. I'll find 
my own way later of telling them about the 
marriage. 

Duffy. 

I'll not open my lips. And it would suit me 
better if they thought I withdrew the case of 
my own free will. Isn't it like a story on the 
pictures, Ellen, the way you and I have come 
together at the end of all. (More love-making. 
Look at his arm around her waist.) 

Aunt Ellen. 

Leave go of me; there's someone commg. 

\^It's George, and his Aunt's slipped 
out. She's all in a flutter and no wonder.'] 

George. 

I'm sorry for leaving you so long, Mr. 
Duffy. I was speaking to my mother and that 
116 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

young rascal of a brother of mine. It's no use 
trying to make him see reason; you might as 
well be talking to a deaf man. 



Duffy. 
Is that so ? 

George. 
My aunt was speaking to you ? 

Duffy. 
She was. 

George. 

I hope you're feeling in a more reasonable 
way? 

Duffy. 
Oh, I've reason on my side. 

George. 

There's no use expecting Denis to marry 
Delia; he'll not do it. What we've got to do, 
Mr. Duffy, is to settle our little difference the 
best way we can. 

Duffy. 

That's a fact. 

117 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

I'm glad to see you taking that view. What 
use is there going into Court? Five minutes 
friendly talk is better than all the lawyers in 
the Four Courts . . . Come, John, we were 
always good friends — what will you take to 
drop the case? 

Duffy. 

To . . . ? Five hundred pounds. ( Teh ! 
Teh!) 

George, 
I mean in earnest. 

Duffy. 
I'm speaking in earnest. 

George. 
I'll give you two hundred. 

Duffy. 

Put your hand there. There's one condition 
I make : not one word of this to your family, 
or anyone. I'd rather have it thought that I 
withdrew the case myself. 

George. 

It will suit me, too, to be quiet about this. 
The family would be mad with me for going 
118 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

behind their backs. My aunt was all for fight- 
ing you to the bitter end. 

Duffy. 
Was she indeed? 

George. 
Don't mind a word she was saying; she's a 
cranky old schemer. 

Duffy. 
Would you believe me telling you she came 
near striking me to-night? 

George. 
She did? Don't mind her, John; she didn't 
mean a word she said. 

Duffy. 
Faith, there's things she said to-night I'll 
hold her accountable for . . . Tell me, when 
will you let me have the money? 

George. 
I'll write a letter to you to-night promising 
to pay it in six months' time, provided you 
don't bring up the case. I'll have to look about 

for the money. 

119 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

That'll do me. But if I haven't the letter in 
the morning I'll start with the case. 

George. 
Oh, you'll have it, never fear. 

[Here's poor Mrs. Geoghegan.] 

Mrs. Geog. 
Is that Mr. Duffy's voice ? 

Duffy. 
Good-night to you ma'am. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Is it true what I hear that you're making a 
set against my poor Denis, that you're going to 
bring him into the Courts? 

Duffy. 
That's so. 

George. 

Don't go into it now, mother. I've been 
talking it over with Mr. Duffy. By to-morrow 
morning he's likely to see matters in a more 
reasonable way. 

120 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
I'm a generous man, ma'am. {You are!) 

Mrs. Geog. 
I know you are. I'll say no more, only 
leave it to God and yourself . . . Would you 
oblige me by taking a note down to Delia ? 

Duffy. 
Certainly, ma'am. 

George. 
What's that, mother? 

Mrs. Geog. 

Only a letter of good-bye from my poor 
Denis. There's a note for yourself, too, Mr. 
Duffy. 

[She's half -whispering, she doesn't 
want George to hear, but he's writing the 
note to Duffy in the corner of the room.] 

Duffy. 

Thank you, ma'am. (It's a thick letter; he 
can't help himself from opening it.) 

Mrs. Geog. 

Are you going to bed, George? 
121 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
I have to write one letter first. 

[Look what Duffy's pulling out of the 
envelope. Notes! Bank notes .'] 

Duffy. 
. . . May the divil . . . 

Mrs. Geog. 

What's the matter, Mr. Duffy? (She's 
afraid George will notice and her finger's on 
her lips. ) 

Duffy. 

Oh, nothing at all, ma'am, nothing at all. 
I'll be going. 

Mrs. Geog. 
I hope business is good by you these times? 

Duffy. 

Business? Oh, business, ma'am is good; 
never better, never better. Well, be the . . . 
Good-night to you both. 

[He's gone. Well, well, such strategy 
and manoeuvring — such lying as you 
might call tV.] 

Curtain. 
122 



Act III 

[The scene is the same but it's morning 
and Baby singing at the piano . . . Yes, 
a lovely voice, 'twas the nuns taught her. 
. . . What's that she's singing f ''Because 
God Made you Mine," one of them relig- 
ious songs I suppose. Look at poor Kate 
dusting the room. She's no singer.] 

Kate. 

That's lovely, Baby. You've a great turn for 
music. 

Baby. 

I have, then. I love them passionate songs. 
There's some like comics, but give me a song 
with passion in it. It goes through me like. 
I suppose I'm queer. 

Kate. 

Why wouldn't you like them? Myself, I 
could never tell one tune from another, but I'd 
listen to you all day. 

123 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 

Whisper here, Kate. I had a letter from 
Maggie Clancy this morning, from Dublin. 
She wants me to go up to her before Christmas. 

Kate. 
And will you? 

Baby, 

I will so. Then I'll be able to start at the 
classes the very minute Christmas is over. 

Kate. 
Where'U you get the money? 

Baby. 

George got twenty pound for sheep yester- 
day; the money's upstairs. He's promised it 
to me; and maybe I could coax a few pounds 
out of mother. 

Kate. 
I suppose you're longing to be off. 

Baby. 

God knows there's wings in my heart to be 
gone out of this. I could never stay on here 
the way you did, never seeing a bit of life or 
124 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

having a chance . . . Are you sorry you didn't 
get married that time? 

Kate. 

Oh, Babe, often I lie awake thinking of it. 
Not that we were such friends; twice only I 
saw him; but he was a big, powerful, hairy 
man, and to have a place of my own and not to 
be depending always on other people — even 
though they're your own family. 

Baby. 

I know, I know; 'tis hard on you. Maybe 
you'll get a chance of marrying again. 

Kate. 

Yerra, no; I'm too old. Ah, where's the use 
in talking of it? 

[Here's the mother.] 

Mrs. Geog. 
Have either of you seen Denis? 

Baby. 
We didn't. 

Kate. 

I gave him a bit of breakfast very early — 
'twasn't more than half-seven, I think, and he 
went out and I didn't lay eyes on him since. 
125 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

And now it's close on twelve o'clock! Oh, 
Kate, do you think is there anything after 
happening to him? 

Kate. 
Yerra, what would happen to him? 

Mrs. Geog. 

What mightn't happen after all the work 
there was last night? Shipped off to Canada, 
parted from the girl he loves, many a man has 
thrown himself into the river for less. 

Kate. 
Ah, not at all. 

Baby. 

There was a grand song I used to sing one 
time about a girl drowned herself for love, but 
I've never had a song about a man destroying 
himself for a girl. Anyway, Denis is the sort 
takes good care of himself. You needn't fret 
about him. 

Mrs. Geog. 

God grant you're right. But all the same 
I wish you'd walk up street and see is there ere 
a sign of him. 

126 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 

I might do that. Listen here, mother. I'm 
off to DubHn in a day or two. 

Mrs. Geog. 
You are? 

Baby. 

ril want clothes and the like, going to 
Dublin. I suppose you won't grudge giving me 
a bit of money? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Money? Where would I get money? 

Kate. 

Sure, the child would want a couple of 
pounds anyway. 

Baby. 

There's no need to be saving it for Denis 
any longer. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I see what's in your mind the same as if I 
was sitting inside you. You've grudged 
Denis every penny he ever got. The poor boy, 
he's no friend in the world but myself. May- 
be he's lying cold and dead now by reason of 
127 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

the way he's been treated in this house by his 
own flesh and blood, but that's nothing at all to 
you so long as you can skeet out of this to 
Dublin. All his life it's been the same story: 
hindered at every turn, denied any little thing 
he had set his heart on, and for all that the 
cleverest of you all. I haven't got any money, 
and if I had it isn't to you I'd give it. 

\^And with that, she's gone.] 

Baby. 

If I wasn't so cross I'd want to laugh at the 
notion of us denying Denis anything! 

Kate. 

Well, we all treated him hardly enough last 
night. 

Baby. 

I believe you're soft on him still. I believe 
we all are in our hearts, only we daren't let 
on. 

[Here's George.] 

George. 

Are you there. Baby? Did you take the 
money ? 

Baby. 

I did not. Where is it ? 
128 



THE WHITEHEADED BOV 

George. 

In my box. At least it was; it's not there 
now. 

Baby. 
Do you mean it's stolen? 

George. 

Ah, who'd steal it? I must have put it in 
some other place. But it's queer. I'm certain 
it was there I put it. I'll have another look. 

{He's gone again. Aren't they a worry 
to him the whole flock of them.] 

Baby. 

'Twould be a nice thing if, after all, the 
money was gone. 

Kate. 

George brought it down to the shop maybe. 

[Jane's coming in now and a paper in 
her hand.] 

Jane. 

You're after vexing the mother with your 
talk of going to Dublin. 
» 129 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 

Why should it vex her? She was wild for 
Denis to go, and now she's mad with me for 
following his example. 

Jane. 

Of course a boy is different . . . You've 
your mind made up? 

Baby. 
I'm off a Monday, if I can get the money. 

Jane, 

Monday! I wish you'd wait and see me 
married. I ran across to Peg Turpin's this 
morning for a minute. She lent me this. Look 
here; it's full of the queerest, grandest things 
ever you saw. 

Baby. 
Is it IV eld on' s you have? 

Jane. 

No. A better paper — V o g u e. Peg's sister 
sent it her from Dublin. 

[Teh, tch! Look at them all round it 
like wasps round a jam-pot.] 

What would you think of that one? 
130 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 
To be married in? 

Jane. 
Yes. 

Kate. 
Wouldn't you feel ashamed-like walking up 
the chapel in it ? 

Jane. 
I would not. 

Baby. 

It's elegant, elegant! That now with tan 
shoes and white gloves— only I don't like the 
hat. 'Tis too quiet for a wedding. You should 
have something flashier— a big feather, or one 
of them scarlet seagulls. 

Kate. 
For God's sake look over the page. 

Baby. 
Well, of all the . . . ! 

Jane. 
It's extraordinary the things they put in 

those fashion papers. 

131 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Kate. 
I'd drop dead if I had that on me. 

Baby. 

It's not so outlandish when you've looked 
at it for a while. "This simple, girlish frock" 
— that's what's written under it. It should 
suit me, so. Would you fancy me in it? 

Kate. 

You'd look lovely in anything, Babe. But 
I'd be in dread Father Murphy would speak of 
it from the altar if you paraded Ballycolman 
in that rig-out. 

Baby. 

Do you think I'd waste it on Ballycolman? 
It's in Dublin I'd wear it. 

Jane. 

There's a blouse below at Peg's I've set my 
heart on. 'Tis lace from here to here, stripes 
of green velvet, gold buttons — oh, 'tis gor- 
geous ! 

{^Here's Aunt Ellen.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

Is there no sign of Denis? 
132 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Jane. 

He's not been here. I hope to goodness 
nothing's happened to him. 

Baby. 

You're as bad as mother. She has him killed 
and buried . . . Look, Aunt, what would 
you think of me in that? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Show . . . Wisha, Babe, you'd never dis- 
grace us going about like that ! 

Baby. 

It's elegant. And Jane has a lovely one here 
picked for her wedding. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Are there wedding dresses there ? Show me. 

Baby. 

I believe Aunt Ellen is thinking of getting 
married ! 

[Listen to them all laughing.] 

Aunt Ellen. 

How smart you are ! . . . What about that 
one, girls? Supposing — supposing I was get- 
ting married. 

133 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Baby. 

Sure, that's a opera cloak, Aunt. 

{Look at Duffy coming in. He's look- 
ing pleased with himself.^ 

Duffy. 
Good-morning to you. 

Baby. 
Good-morning, Mr. Duffy. 

Jane. 
Good-morning, Mr. Duffy. 

Kate. 
Good-morning, Mr. Duffy. 

Duffy. 
Good-morning, Ellen. I hope you're good. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I am, thank you. 

Duffy. 

Were you thinking over what I said to you 
last night? 

134 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 

To tell you the truth, I never thought of it 
since. 

\^God forgive her!] 

Duffy. 
You didn't? 

Aunt Ellen. 
Never once. 

Baby. 

Her mind's full of the one thing only at the 
present minute, Mr. Dufify — dresses, wedding 
dresses, no less. It's my belief she's going to 
get married on the sly. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Hold your tongue. 

Duffy. 

Wedding dresses? Is that what you're at? 
Oh, that's all right . . . However, I didn't 
come here to talk the fashions ; I wanted to see 
George for a minute. 

Kate. 

He's above. I'll call him. 
135 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Jane. 

Come on across to Peg's, Babe, till you see 
the blouse I was telling you about. 

[^The three of them are off with them- 
selves. They'll spend the rest of the 
morning talking fashions at Peg's.] 

Duffy. 
So you've fixed on the dress already? 

Aunt Ellen. 

I haven't. But if I've got to be married, I 
may as well be married decently. 

Duffy. 

Oh, never fear, we'll make a smart thing of 
it . . . Do you know, Ellen, Easter's terrible 
late this year. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Is it ? But what matter ? I always think it's 
nicer late. 

Duffy. 

But a late Easter makes a late Shrove. I 
looked at the calendar before I slept last night. 
Holy Star, I could hardly believe my eyes. I 
don't think there was ever such a late Easter 
in the memory of man. 

136 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
What matter? 

Duffy. 

Christmas, I'd have said if I'd known; and 
I think Christmas it must be, Ellen. 

Aunt Ellen. 
What? Marry you before Christmas? I'll 

do no such thing. 

Duffy. 
I can't wait. You must. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I tell you, you must wait. 

Duffy. 

Peg will make you a dress in a week . . . 
If you won't, I'll have to tell George about the 
bargain you made. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You wouldn't do such a thing after you 
promising. 

Duffy. 

A man in love, you know . . . 

[Here's George and the mother. \ 
U7 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 
Mr. Duffy, did you see Denis ? 

Duffy. 

I didn't. He wasn't over at my place. 
Delia's in bed, sick. 

Mrs. Geog. 

The creature! ... I hope, Mr. Duffy, 
you've come up to tell us you've changed your 
mind about the breach of promise? I'm sure 
you couldn't wish to be hard on us, old friends 
as we are. 

George. 
To be sure, Mr. Duffy will be reasonable. 

Aunt Ellen. 

You're all talking as if the man was some- 
thing terrible. 

Duffy. 

Well, I've been thinking things over . . . 
I've a strong case to go on, there's no one can 
say I haven't. I've justice on my side, my good 
name to keep up, the honour of my poor 
motherless girl, and — and all that. But, after 
all, quarrelling among neighbours is a bad 
thing. Your poor father, George, was a good 
138 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

friend of mine, and for his sake, and because 
it's Delia's wish, and because I'm a peaceable 
Christian man, I'm going to withdraw the case. 

Mrs. Geog. 
The blessing of God on you for that word ! 

George. 
Thank you, John. 

Duffy. 

Mind you, it's a great loss to me. I'm letting 
a deal of money go from me, and I suppose 
there'll be people who'll say behind my back — 
aye, and up to my puss, maybe — that the 
Geoghegans bested the Duffys. But I don't 
care. I'll bear all that for the sake of the good- 
will I have to the family. 

Mrs. Geog. 
You won't be without your reward. 

George. 

Shake hands, John. You've spoken like a 
man. 

Mrs. Geog. 

If ever I wronged you in my thoughts, Mr. 
Duffy, may God forgive me and reward you 
as you deserve. 

139 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

I'm looking for nothing ma'am. I'm glad 
I was able to do this for you. And now I 
must be going back to the Post Office. The 
Inspector might be here this morning. 

George. 

Wouldn't you have something before you 
go? 

Duffy. 

No, thank you, George. Seldom I touch 
anything. 

George. 
Ah, a small drop . . . Come, John? 

Duffy. 
Well, just a mouthful. 

George. 
A drop for you, Aunt? 

Aunt Ellen. 
No, thank you, George. 

George. 

You're like myself; you touch nothing. 
You'll have some, mother ? 
140 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 
A small drop — for Mr. Duffy's sake. Here's 
long life to you, Mr. Duffy. 

Duffy. 
Well, here's luck to . . . 

[It ivould make you thirsty to watch 
them. Would we have time to slip out 

joy a Whisht! Here's Denis and 

Delia.] 

Mrs. Geog. 
Denis! Where were you? I thought you 
were gone from us. 

Denis. 
Not at all. You don't get rid of me quite 
as easily as that. Good-morning, Mr. Duffy. 

Duffy. 
Morning. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Sit down, Delia. Would you take a glass 
of wine? 

Delia. 

No, thank you, Mrs. Geoghegan. 
141 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

You might as well. Drink success to me in 
Canada, and all that sort of thing. 

Delia. 
Oh, I'll do that. 

[They're all trying to make up to her.] 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't fret over this, alanna. It will all come 
right in the end, I'm sure. Maybe in a year 
or two Denis will be able to come back and 
marry you. 







Duffy. 


I thought 


you 


were sick, 
Delia. 


I'm better. 




Duffy. 


You look 


it. 


Delia. 


You seem 


sorry. 



Duffy. 

You'd better come along home now. The 
Inspector's likely to come this morning, and 'tis 
142 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

you know about them postal orders that went 
astray on us. 

Delia. 
I'll come in a minute. 

Mrs. Geog. 

She wants to see a little of Denis before he 
goes, small blame to her. 

Duffy. 

Ay, he'll have other things to do in future 
besides love-making. 

Delia. 

Indeed, yes. I suppose, Denis, our love- 
making has come to an end ? 

Duffy. 

That's a sensible girl. I thought maybe 
you'd be for not giving him up. 

George. 

I'm sorry, Delia, we had to come between 
the two of you, but there was nothing else for 
it. 

Delia. 

I'm sure you only did what was right, 
George. 

143 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

As a matter of fact, I haven't given Delia 
up. 

Duffy. 

But you must. 

George. 
You can't get married, you know. 

Aunt Ellen. 
You're off to Canada to-morrow. 

Denis. 

Yes, yes, I know all that. George, I've been 
thinking things over. What you said last night 
was true. I've been a bad brother to you, it's 
right for you to turn me out. The only thing 
that makes me unhappy is the case that Mr. 
Duffy threatens against us. 

George. 
That needn't bother you. 

Denis. 

It does. It's likely to draw a lot of money 
out of you. 

George. 

Hush! Listen here . . . 
144 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

All my life through I've sacrificed myself to 
you; I've done all you wished me to; I'll go 
through with it to the end. Forgive me for 
what I said last night. I've seen I was wrong. 
I wrote another letter to Delia last night; I 
saw her early this morning, and we talked the 
matter over. Don't let the weight of the 
breach of promise be on your mind a minute 
longer. Mr. Duffy will never bring it. 

Duffy. 
How do you know I won't, young man? 

Denis. 

Because, Mr. Duffy, Delia and I were 
married half an hour ago. 

[Well, glory be to God!] 

Duffy. 
Ye . . . ? It's a lie. 

Denis. 
I beg your pardon; it's true. 

Duffy. 

You couldn't be married so smart. 
" 145 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

Father Murphy had heard the story of my 
going to Canada, and he was quite ready to 
marry me. I'm so glad, George, I've done 
what you wished me to do . . . Excuse me 
for a few minutes. 

[He's gone out. Where's he gone tof] 

Duffy. 
How dare you — how dare you ! 

[He's in a temper. A^o wonder.] 

Delia. 
Father ! 

Duffy. 

Ruining me — ruining me, that's what you'd 
Hke to be doing. Hadn't I my fortune made? 
Wasn't I settled for life? Look at here! A 
letter from George giving me two hundred 
pounds provided I don't go on with the case. 

Mrs. Geog. 
George ! 

Aunt Ellen 
George, how could you! 

George. 

I didn't, I didn't! 

146 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

Look at here again — ^twenty pounds in notes 
from Mrs. Geoghegan to let the case drop, to 
put nothing in the way of the two of you. 

George. 

That's the twenty pounds I missed this 
morning. Give them here; they're mine. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Ann, I'm surprised at you ! 

Duffy. 

And look at this. A hundred pounds from 
Aunt Ellen and a promise to marry me before 
Shrove. And now I suppose it's no better than 
waste paper. 

Mrs. Geog. 
Ellen, I'm amazed at you, thinking of getting 
married at your age! 

George. 

Aunt Ellen, after what you said! 

Delia. 

Quiet yourself, father. 
147 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

'Tis easy to say, "Quiet yourself!" I never 
thought you'd turn on me like that, Delia — the 
only child I ever had ! 

Delia. 

Sure, it's pleasing you I thought we'd be. 
Last night you were fit to be tied at the notion 
of my not getting married. 

. Duffy. 

I thought phad spirit enough to throw you 
over. But the Geoghegans are a mean-spirited 
lot; they haven't even the courage to jilt a 
girl. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Well, thank God, I'm free of my promise 
and have courage enough to jilt you, Mr. 
Dufify. 

{^There's a stab!] 

Duffy. 

Do you hear what she says, Delia? That's 
your doing ... I've your hundred pounds, 
anyway, and I'll not give it up, not if you 
bring me into a court of law. And I've your 
twenty pounds in notes, ma'am; I'll not part 
with them. 

148 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
They're not hers; they're mine. 

Duffy. 
Faith, they're mine now. 

George. 

For Baby they were meant. Do you know, 
mother, I could have you put in jail for a thief ? 

Mrs. Geog. 

And what about the two hundred pounds you 
squandered unknown to any of us? 

George, 

And you, Aunt Ellen, after all you said about 
putting a bold face on it, no surrender, and 
the like . . . 

Mrs. Geog. 

Yes, indeed, you were very brazen, engaging 
yourself to be married like that ! 

George. 

Look here, Mr. Dufify, give me back that 
letter I wrote to you. 

Duffy. 

I will not. 

149 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
Give me back my cheque. 

Mrs. Geog. 
I'd be thankful for that twenty pounds. 

Duffy. 

There's been trickery and underhand dealing 
here. I'm not inclined to part with these in a 
hurry. 

George. 

Trickery? Underhand dealing? You're a 
nice one to talk of trickery when you had us 
all tricked up to the eyes last night, and making 
me promise not to say a word of it to anyone ! 
And I suppose you had Aunt Ellen bound the 
same way. And mother robbing me, and Aunt 
Ellen betraying me behind my back — Is it 
thieves and traitors I'm dealing with? 

Aunt Ellen. 
And what about yourself, George? 

Delia. 

Look here, all of you, what's the use going 
on like this, scolding and attacking each other ? 
Too smart you've all been trying to be, and 
Denis and I have shown you up. Can't you 
make peace now? Can't you . . . 
150 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy, 

Will you hold your tongue, girl ! Enough 
trouble you've made already. One certain 
thing is — after this morning's work I'm done 
with you — done with you. You can leave the 
house to-day; not a shilling will you ever get 
from me. 

George. 

And I say the same about Denis. We're 
quit of him now for ever. I tell you it's very 
soon, Delia, you'll repent of the deceitful way 
you acted to-day. 

Delia. 

You can spare your words, George, and you. 
too, father. Denis and I aren't asking help 
from any of you. We can get on very well 
without you. Denis has got work ; he can sup- 
port his wife, and no thanks to any of you. 

Duffy. 
Is he after getting an appointment? 

Mrs. Geog. 

I knew something good would turn up for 
him. 

George. 

What is it, Delia? 

151 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Delia. 

Here he is himself; he'll tell you. 

[In the name of goodness will you look 
at him! 'Tis overalls he has on him and 
his trousers tied zvith string and a muffler 
round his neck and an old greasy cap. 
What at all can have happened^] 

Mrs. Geog. 
For goodness sake ! Denis ! 

Aunt Ellen. 

Where in God's name did you get the 
clothes ? 

Denis. 
Larry Hogan lent me them. 

Delia. 

I've been telling them, Denis, that you've got 
work. Tell them what it is. 

Denis. 

I haven't much time. I want a bite of some- 
thing before I go. (He's looking at his "umst 
watch.) I'm due in ten minutes. By the way, 
you might keep this watch, Delia; it's hardly 
suitable to my employment. 

[He gives it to her.] 
152 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 
Where are you going? 

Denis. 
Oh, not far; don't fret, George; not as far 
as Canada; not farther, in fact, than a hundred 
yards from the shop door. 

George. 
What do you mean? 

Denis. 
Well, as we came up the street from the 
chapel after being married one of the men 
working on the road where the steam-roller is 
was taken ill. I saw he was pretty bad and 
ordered him off to hospital. The foreman was 
cursing at being left short-handed; I offered 
myself in the sick man's place. I'm to go down 
there after dinner hour at one o'clock . . . 

{What the .'] 

Delia is going to see if we can get two rooms 
in one of Nolan's cottages. I'll send up for my 
clothes this evening. You'll be glad to see me 
starting to work at last, George. 

George. 

You're — you're mad. 
153 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
You'll be working on the street? 

Denis. 

Yes, on the street. I hope in a day or two 
we'll have worked up as far as the Post Office, 
Mr. Duffy. 

Duffy, 
Oh, my God! 

Mrs. Geog. 

Denis, Denis, you mustn't do it! George, 
speak to him, speak to him! 

George. 

Denis, boy, don't do it. Hard as we were 
on you, we wouldn't like to drive you to that. 

Denis. 

My dear old chap, don't worry about me. 
I assure you, I don't mind. Ballycolman or 
Canada, it's all the same to me. In fact, I pre- 
fer Ballycolman. I like being amongst friends. 

George. 

Friends! Think what everyone will say of 
you, and what sort of a name will they put on 
us to say we drove you out on the road ! 
154 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Denis. 

Oh, let them say what they Hke. Mother, 
give me a bit of bread and a drink of milk. I 
must be off, or I'll lose my job. And you might 
put some tea in a can. 

Mrs. Geog. 

I'll not. You to be working, Denis ! It's 
a disgrace we'd never get over. 

Duffy. 
Delia, speak to him ; make him hear reason. 

Delia. 

Why should I? You told me straight a 
minute ago we needn't look to you for help. 
We've got to live. Do you think Nolan's have 
a room. 

Duffy. 

Delia, Delia, do you want to break my heart? 
A Duffy to be in one of Nolan's little houses ! 
Look at here — let the two of you come and 
live with me. 

\^He's almost crying.^ 

George. 

Come and live here. 

155 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
Come and live out at my place. 

Denis. 

No, thanks. I want to be independent. I 
want to be working. 

George. 
We'd get you something decent to do. 

Duffy. 

A job will turn up for you. Amn't I Chair- 
man of the District Council? I'm sure you 
know enough doctoring to be a tuberculosis 
officer . . . or . . . 

Denis. 
No, I don't. 

George. 

Think of something, Aunt Ellen. You were 
always a woman for schemes. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Denis, I always favoured you; you were 
always my pet. Come out to Kilmurray; 
manage the shop there. It's a hundred and fifty 
a year in your pocket, and I'll leave you the 
farm when I die. 

156 



THE JVHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
Do, Denis! 

Mrs. Geog. 
Do, like a good boy. 

George. 
For the mother's sake. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Don't be pussy with us, Denis. 

[Look at him smiling and shaking his 
head. ] 

Duffy. 
Look at here : I'll give you this if you will. 
There's twenty pounds. 

Denis. 
Keep it, Mr. Dufify. 

Duffy. 
Here's your aunt's cheque for £ioo — 'tis 
endorsed and all. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Take it, Denis, take it. 

157 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 
George, will you give him that £200? 

George. 
I will. Anything to save us from this. 

Denis. 
I don't want it. 

Duffy. 

Then what in the earthly world will tempt 
you? 

Denis. 

I only want to be able to do what I like with 
my own life — to be free. 

Duffy. 

Free? . . . Bedad, isn't he like old Ireland 
asking for freedom, and we're like the fools 
of Englishmen offering him every bloody thing 
except the one thing? . . . Do Denis, do like 
a darling boy, go out to Kilmurray and manage 
the shop. 

Denis. 

I don't know that much about shop-keeping. 
158 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

George. 

Yerra, that's the best reason you could have 
for going. Sure, 'tisn't a real shop, only one 
of them co-operatives. The sooner it bursts 
the better. 

Denis. 

You'd like to force me to do this just the 
way you forced me to do everything else — to go 
to Dublin, to go to Canada, to give up Delia. 
Will I never be free from you? ... If I go 
— but mind you, I don't say I will — Delia will 
have to look after the shop. I won't. 

Duffy. 
Now, Delia, be a good girl ; say you will. 

Delia. 

Denis, we're beaten; we'll have to go, we'll 
have to give in to them. But don't fret your- 
self; I'll look after the shop; you'll never be 
asked to do a hand's turn in it. 

George. 
God bless you, Delia. 

Delia. 

Listen here, George. Don't flatter yourself 
that shop's going to fail. It's not. It's going 
159 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

to best you all — you can make up your mind 
to that. 

George. 

Begob, I wouldn't wonder if it would, with 
you at the head of it. 

Duffy. 
Isn't she a Duffy ? 

Delia. 

There's not one of you here have ever under- 
stood Denis. He's been straitened and denied 
all his life through, but I'm going to give him 
what he wants now. 



Denis 
Do you think Kilmurray is what I want ? 

Delia. 

An easy life, no responsibility, money in your 
pocket, something to grumble at — What 
more do you want? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Maybe we'll get you something better later 
on, Denis. And anyway you'll have the farm 
when I die. 

160 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Duffy. 

Ellen Geoghegan, what sort is the farm 
likely to be the day you die, and you treating it 
the way you do? Listen here: isn't it your 
sacred and solemn duty to those two helpless 
young creatures to take care you leave it to 
them in good condition? 
[That's right. \ 

Aunt Ellen. 
Maybe so. 

Duffy. 

To do that you've got to marry me. 

Aunt Ellen. 
I'm free of my promise; I'd rather keep 
free. 

Duffy. 
You daren't. Not with the responsibility 
that's on you now. Suppose you squandered 
the farm? 

Aunt Ellen. 
You frighten me! I suppose, for Denis's 
sake, I'll have to have you so. 

Duffy. 

That's the woman ! And maybe in the end 
of all you won't get the farm, Denis, my boy. 
11 161 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Aunt Ellen. 
What are you saying? 

Duffy. 

What's to hinder us having a son of our 
own? 

Aunt Ellen. 

Mr. Duffy, I'm surprised at you. I didn't 
think you could be so coarse. 

[ . . . Yes, she have a very delicate 
mind. ] 

Duffy. 

I'm sorry, Ellen; I'm sorry. Still you never 
know what mightn't happen. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Ellen, if that day ever comes to you, — and 
I pray that it will, — take my advice, go up to 
Dublin and see Sir Denis. He's an old man, 
but he's hearty yet, I'm told, and . . . 

Duffy. 

No, no, ma'am. One whiteheaded boy is as 
much as this family can support. We're not 
going to rear another. 

162 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

Well, thank God, everything's well settled. 
I'm dying to tell the others; they'll be delighted. 

George. 
Begob, I clean forgot them! 

Aunt Ellen. 
Peter will have to stay on here, 

George. 
Jane can't get married. 

Aunt Ellen. 
Baby can't go to Dublin. 

George. 
How is it we all forgot them? 

Aunt Ellen. 
Thinking all the time of Denis we were. 

George. 

What in hell are we to do? . . . There's 
a noise in the street . . . It's them coming. 
. . . What are we to say to them? They'll 
have my life. 

163 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 

Quiet yourself, George. They'll be all de- 
lighted when they hear the way Denis is settled 
for life. I'll talk to them. Leave it to me. 

George. 

Faith, I'll do that with a heart and a half. 
I'll see you later, John. 

[He's glad to go.\ 

Mrs. Geog. 

Don't take it hardly Denis. There are worse 
things than a shop and a farm and £320 in your 
hand, and when all's said and done it's better 
than working on the roads. 

Denis. 

I'm not going to grumble, mother, where's 
the use? I've always had to do what you all 
made me do, and I suppose I may as well go 
on with it. I can't fight you all . . . 

Mrs. Geog. 

That's my brave darling boy. ( There's kiss- 
ing!) Oh, Delia, take care of him; he's not 
strong at all. 

Dei.ia. 
I'll look after him. Give me the money, 
Denis, I'm going to put it in the bank. George 
164 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

must make me out a promissory note. While 
I'm at the bank, Denis, change your clothes. 
This afternoon we'll drive out to Kilmurray. 
I want to look at the shop. 

[^That's the girl zvill manage liim. 
George i^ sticking his head in the door.] 

George. 
They're coming! 

Mrs. Geog. 

I'm ready for them. 

[Here's Kate, Jane, Baby, Donough 
and Peter, all in together in great excite- 
ment; they all talking together.] 

All. 

What's this we're after hearing — that Denis 
and Delia have got married? 

Baby, 
Is this a fact ? 

Mrs. Geog. 

It's quite true, thanks be to God. Denis is 
married, he's going out to Kilmurray to man- 
age the shop, we're after giving him £300 and 
more, 

165 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

All. 
What? What's that you say? 

Mrs. Geog. 
I knew you'd all be delighted. 

All. 
Delighted ! 

Baby. 
I suppose this means I can't go to Dublin? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Not at all, you'll go — some day — never fear. 

Baby. 
Some day! 

Jane. 
Does this mean I can't marry Donough? 

Mrs. Geog. 
Not at all. You'll marry him — some day. 

Peter. 

And what about me? 
166 



THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 

Mrs. Geog. 
You'll be all right — some day. 

All. 
Well, I think it's a shame. 

Mrs. Geog. 

Shame ? Think shame to yourselves ! What 
sort of unnatural children have I got at all? 
Would you grudge your brother the one little 
bit of luck he's had in all his life? Look at 
him sitting there with the girl he loves and he 
after marrying her and not one of you would 
as much as wish him joy. 

Jane. 

I'm sure, Denis, I have nothing against you. 
I hope you'll be happy only 

Baby. 
May you be happy — s o m e d a y ! 

Peter. 
Good luck to you. 

Aunt Ellen. 

Girls, look here. I've a plan In my mind for 

you all. After I'm married 

167 



THE WHITEHEADED BOY 

All. 

After you're what? 

[They think she's mad.] 

Duffy. 
After we're married. 

Baby. 

That's the boldest plan she ever made. After 
you're married? Wisha, God help you, John 
Duffy. 

[And she's right.] 

Curtain. 



168 



The Whiteheaded Boy was first produced at 
the Abbey Theatre, Dubhn, on December 13th, 
1916, with the following cast: — 



Mrs. Geoghegan 


Eileen O'Doherty 


George 


Breffni O'Rourke 


Peter 


Arthur Shields 


Kate 


Dorothy Lynd 


Baby 


Maureen Delany 


Jane 


May Craig 


Denis 


Fred O'Donovan 


Donough Brosnan 


Peter Nolan 


John Duffy 


Chas. C. O'Reilly 


Delia 


Irene Kelly 


Aunt Ellen 


Maire O'Neill 


Hannah 


Sheila O'Sullivan 



The play was produced by J. Augustus Keogh. 



169 



New Comedies 

By 
LADY GREGORY 

The Bogie Men— The Full Moon— Coats 
Darner's Gold— McDonough's Wife 

8°. With Portrait in Photogravure 

The plays have been acted with great success 
by the Abbey Company, and have been highly 
extolled by appreciative audiences and an en- 
thusiastic press. They are distinguished by a 
humor of unchallenged originality. ^^ 

One of the plays in the collection, " Coats, 
depends for its plot upon the rivalry of two 
editors, each of whom has written an obituary 
notice of the other. The dialogue is full of 
crisp humor. "McDonough's Wife," another 
drama that appears in the volume, is based on a 
legend, and explains how a whole town rendered 
honor against its will. " The Bogie Men " has as 
its underlying situation an amusing misunder- 
standing of two chimney-sweeps. The wit and 
absurdity of the dialogue are in Lady Gregory s 
best vein. " Damer's Gold " contains the story 
of a miser beset by his gold-hungry relations. 
Their hopes and plans are upset by one they had 
believed to be of the simple of the world, but 
who confounds the Wisdom of the Wise. " The 
Full Moon " presents a Httle comedy enacted on 
an Irish railway station. It is characterized by 
humor of an original and delightful character 
and repartee that is distinctly clever. 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NfiW YORK LONDON 



Irish Folk-History Plays 

By 
LADY GREGORY 

First Series. The T ragedies 
GRANIA KINCORA DERVORGILLA 

Second Series. The Tragic Comedies 

THE CANAVANS THE WHITE COCKADE 

THE DELIVERER 

2 vols. 



Lady Gregory has preferred going for her material to the tra- 
ditional folk-history rather than to the authorized printed versions, 
and she has been able, in so doing, to make her plays more living. 
One of these, K^incora, telling of Brian Boru, who reigned in the 
year looo, evoked such keen local interest that an old farmer 
travelled from the neighborhood of Kincora to see it acted in 
Dublin. 

The story of Crania, on which Lady Gregory has founded one 
of these plays, was taken entirely from tradition. Grania was a 
beautiful young woman and was to have been married to Finn, the 
great leader of the Fenians; but before the marriage, she went 
away from the bridegroom with his handsome young kinsman, 
Diarmuid. After many years, when Diarmuid had died (and Finn 
had a hand in his death), she went back to Finn and became his 
queen. 

Another of Lady Gregory's plays. The Canaoans dealt with 
the stormy times of Queen Elizabeth, whose memory is a horror in 
Ireland second only to that of Cromwell. 

The White Cockade is founded on a tradition of King James 
having escaped from Ireland after the battle of the Boyne in a wine 
barrel. 

The choice of folk history rather than written history gives a 
freshness of treatment and elasticity of material which made the 
late J. M. Synge say that " Lady Gregory's method had brought 
back the possibility of writing historic plays." 

All these plays, except Grania, which has not yet been staged, 
have been very successfully performed in Ireland. They are written 
in the dialect of Kiltartan, which had already become familiar to 
readers of Lady Gregory's books. 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 



Seven Short Plays 

By 
Lady Gregory 

Author of " New Comedies," " Our Irish Theatre," etc 

12°. 

The plays in this volume are the following: 
Spreading the News, Hyacinth Halvey, The 
Rising of the Moon, The Jackdaw, The Work^' 
house Ward, The Travelling Man, The Gaol Gate, 
The volume also contains music for the songs in 
the plays and notes explaining the conception of 
the plays. 

Among the three great exponents of the 
modem Celtic movement in Ireland, Lady 
Gregory holds an unusual place. It is she from 
whom came the chief historical impulse which 
resulted in the re-creation for the present 
generation of the elemental poetry of early 
Ireland, its wild disorders, its loves and hates — • 
all the passionate light and shadow of that fierce 
and splendid race. 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



Our Irish Theatre 

By Lady Gregory 

Author of " Irish Folk-History Plays," " New Comedies," etc. 

12°. Illustrated 

The volume presents an account not only 
of the great contemporary dramatic move- 
ment of Ireland, including such names as 
those of Synge, Yeats, and Lady Gregory 
herself, but of the stage history of the Dublin 
Theatre from its erection. A section of the 
book that possesses a very pertinent interest 
for American readers is that which has to do 
with the bitter antagonism which the Irish 
actors encountered on their first visit to our 
shores, an antagonism which happily expended 
itself and was converted upon the second 
visit of these players into approval and en- 
thusiastic endorsement. The book contains 
a full record of the growth and development 
of an important dramatic undertaking, in 
which the writer has been a directing force. 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



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